Harry Potter and the Guardian Wand
by sikeus
Summary: Dumbledore's dead. On the train ride home, cars are at a standstill, the electricity is out, fires burn unchecked from Scotland to London, and chaos reigns in muggle Britain. Somehow Harry has to survive this new world while destroying Voldemort.
1. Prologue

**Don't worry, this story is about Harry, and primarily from his view point. You see him center stage beginning with Chapter 1, after which I use only JK Rowling's characters. The prologue is background that sets the stage for a situation Harry has to deal with, but none of JK Rowling's characters would have done such a dastardly deed. Except for Voldemort, of course, if he'd hadn't discarded everything muggle as inferior. (insert evil cackle here. :)  
**

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

Prologue

As Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore searched through Voldemort's cave for a locket a continent away, Henrik smirked as he surveyed the obscure hangar nestled in the mountains of Montana at Malmstrom Air Force Base.

This particular hangar with its beige walls and metal roof held a treasure trove for the blond wizard. Nuclear weapons. He could care less what his employers wanted with fifty atomic missiles, but he did care about the gold he'd receive in return. Pure gold that goblins would melt down into galleons. He'd spent years building his reputation on the muggle black market for a job like this. He'd take the payout – enough to fund a small country for a year – and return to the European magical society as a lord. They may frown at him for his mixed, dirty blood, but they would respect his money.

He glanced down at the top-secret map so courteously provided him by a tech at the base. The poor slob didn't remember giving it to him, of course. Henrik rolled his wand between his fingers and grinned. His professional occupation – acquisitions expert – was almost laughable when muggles were involved. Their special technical systems were easily bypassed by magic.

With one last glance at the locations of the cameras, motion detectors, and heat sensors, he rolled up the map and stuffed it in his pocket. A soft pop and Henrik disappeared from the bare, rocky mountainside.

He appeared with his back against a wall, a camera overhead and smack dab in between two laser beams. He grinned as a thrill of delight ran through him. He'd discovered at Durmstrang he had an uncanny knack for apparating into unknown spaces. Not only that, he'd found by concentrating clearly on both arriving at his destination and avoiding danger, he avoided materializing in walls and laser beams.

He flicked his wand once, twice, three times. Freezing charms immobilized the heat sensors. He looked up at the camera above him. Since a flame charm might set off smoke detectors, he instead sent a carefully modulated heating spell at the camera over his head. He held it till he heard a small hissing sound. Satisfied, he repeated the exercise on all visible cameras. Simultaneous failure of the cameras was certainly suspicious, but by the time someone investigated the matter, he'd be gone.

While completely destroying the cameras with a _reducto_ would have the advantage of simplicity, the questions that would raise would certainly lead to a witch hunt by the United States government. After all, anyone close enough to completely destroy the cameras would have been caught on the cameras themselves before they were obliterated.

No, his goal was to retire peacefully with no trail left behind. The United States Air Force would find perfect replicas of the weapons – at least on the outside – when they needed to use them the most.

Henrik turned his attention to the first warhead in a long line of warheads, its grey alloy gleaming dully in the dim light. He apparated next to its berth and slapped a smiley face sticker on it – a one-way portkey. He admired the yellow sticker for a moment, pleased with the small touch. After pulling out one of fifty grey rocks from the bag slung across his back, he activated the portkey.

The megaton missile disappeared. Without a pause, Henrik placed the rock in the empty berth and cast his transfiguration spell. He'd examined pictures of this type of missile _ad nauseam_, classified and unclassified, to create his spell, and then he'd spent hours practicing and perfecting the transfiguration in preparation for this mission. He nodded with satisfaction. Externally, it was identical to the original missile.

Henrik apparated to each warhead in turn, barely audible pops trailing in his wake. The whole operation took less than twenty minutes, with each warhead portkeyed to their proper place across the world. Creating the portkeys had been tricky, but invigorating. He'd had to key the portkey to home in on the inside of a moving box instead of stationary piece of ground.

With once last look around the bunker, Henrik removed the freezing charms on the temperature sensors and disapparated.

* * *

Sharif Ali didn't bat an eye when Henrik waltzed into his office in Dubai, bypassing layers of security. Henrik's reflection in the window was as haughty as the young man himself, arrogant chin jutting into the air and proclaiming his success. Sharif carefully hid his triumph from Henrik as he finally swiveled in his chair to greet him. He raised one eyebrow expectantly.

Henrik held both hands loosely at his side with his legs spread slightly apart. "It is done."

"Ah," Sharif said. "But how do I know you managed such an...unlikely accomplishment?" The doubt had to be carefully played, else the younger man's suspicions would be roused.

Henrik's jaw tightened. "You came to me because I always deliver when no one else can. When I say I've done something, then I've done it."

That was true. The broad-shouldered man in front of him had carefully built just such a reputation, perhaps for such a day as this. Sharif nodded sharply once. "You will receive your payment after the items in question are used. The gold will be dropped off at the usual location in Pakistan."

Clenching his fists, Henrik stepped forward quickly. "If you're hoping I'll be fried by the nuclear strike you're planning tonight-" The ominous sound of a bullet being loaded into the chamber of a gun echoed in the room, and he stopped. He'd forgotten the bodyguards standing silently in the corners.

Genuine humor stretched Sharif's mouth into a rarely-used smile, displaying crooked, yellow teeth. He waved a hand. "Come now. The gold has already been delivered, as agreed. I will merely make a few calls to both the ships and the men guarding your gold, then you will be free to go."

Henrik sank down into the plush velvet chair near the desk. He ignored the mesmerizing view of Dubai's lights reflecting on the water in favor of watching Sharif.

Dubai. The whelp in front of him must think Sharif was a wealthy, but aging sheik spending his twilight years in this place that catered to the wealthy. No, Dubai was simply easier to access than his hometown of Tehran. Even for a man of Henrik's...unusual talents.

Running a hand through his greying hair, Sharif confirmed the arrival of his missiles at a few select ships. Then he phoned the guards to have them evacuate the cave they'd hidden Henrik's payment in.

"Excellent, all is in order with your payment and your delivery." Sharif rose to his feet, carefully restraining the quivering excitement flooding his system as decades of planning came to fruition."I'm sure you have much to do tonight, as do I. Insha'allah."

"Insha'allah." Henrik stumbled over the unfamiliar words, turned on his heel and sauntered away.

While watching his naïve tool disappear from sight, Sharif wondered if the foolish young wizard would think to check for the contact poison he'd ordered sprayed over each shiny gold bar. He bared his teeth in a feral grin as he turned on the spot and disapparated.

* * *

Sharif strode through the narrow, cramped passageway as the ship rolled underneath his feet, joy singing through his veins. He'd been searching for years – decades – for a wizard or witch with the Henrik's innate talent. The ability to safely apparate to unknown destinations was truly rare. Not only that, but Sharif required someone who was either morally bankrupt or susceptible to temptation. Unfortunately, that innate talent of Henrik's wouldn't work if he felt the act of apparating would make him unsafe, such as if he used it under the duress of blackmail. Sharif had tried that before with a rather pathetically fragile red-haired thing.

He'd been gone less than an hour while he waited for Henrik, and an absence that long was easily hidden, even on a ship just large enough to hold a missile launching platform.

As he reached the command center, he nodded at the dark-haired, tanned lieutenant in front of him. Volunteers, each and every member of this ship. They knew this mission would end in their deaths, although they thought it would be glorius end at the hand of other U.S. or NATO ships for attacking the western world, not the ignominy of starvation. Still, they had eagerly volunteered to strike a blow at the western imperialists. Sharif wasn't that petty, though. No, in a few short minutes he would personally usher in the time where the world would be bathed in blood and chaos. Soon a new world order would be formed, with his people once again taking their proper place as the rulers of the civilized world.

Sharif slowed to a stop. "It's time."

The lieutenant stared back at him for a moment before squaring his shoulders. "Yes, sir." He turned, shouting orders at the ensigns and privates around him. They tore open the massive crate holding the nuclear weapon and loaded it into the launcher.

Soon.

Sharif glanced at the watch around his wrist, the last time he'd use it. Five minutes till midnight. "Confirm with the other ships that they are ready for launch."

"Yes, sir, general, sir."

Five minutes slowly ticked by before the lieutenant returned. "All ships are ready for launch."

"On my mark." Sharif restrained a savage grin. The sweet taste of triumph spilled over his tongue as he said, "Launch."

Fifty separate missiles launched upwards into the sky at carefully selected places around the world. Each continent except Antarctica would receive eight missiles. The remaining two would be added onto the four designated for the United States of America. More than enough to do the job.

Minutes passed as each person on Sharif's ship watched the fiery trail of their missile ascending into the air, without knowing that their greatest wizard and protector, Albus Dumbledore, was at that moment tumbling lifelessly to the ground.

When the crew turned around, their leader was gone.

To be continued...

A/N For a brief description of the science this story is based on, please read the author's note at the end of the next chapter. And if you're enjoying this, feel free to check out my free original fantasy stories by going to the links in my author profile page. I'd love to see you at my story blog!


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling.

Harry Potter pressed his nose against the cool glass of the Hogwarts Express window. All the towns they'd passed through looked the same. No car moved. Glass littered the sidewalks and roads from smashed windows. Clusters of people huddled together, warily watching other groups on the streets. A grey haze from out of control fires dimmed the light from the sun.

He turned to Hermione. "Maybe death eaters attacked these towns? With Dumbledore gone…"

She shook her head, taut muscles broadcasting wariness and concern. "No. It's only been a few days since he died. And if it was magical, the Daily Prophet would have covered it." Her lip curled with disdain at the mention of that rag.

"What, then?" Ron asked from behind them.

"I don't know." Hermione's troubled voice answered. "Perhaps there were massive rolling black outs or brown outs. Those cause riots sometimes." Upon seeing Ron's confused expression, she simplified, "The electricity goes out sometimes."

"I'm sure the muggles will take care of things, then." Ron dismissed with a wave of his hand, his interest waning. He drifted back to his abandoned gobstones game with Ginny, Neville, and Luna.

Harry and Hermione exchanged a doubtful glance. Riots in towns across Scotland and England were a bit unlikely, but they could do nothing but watch.

"My parents," Hermione murmured, tilting her head towards him while still looking out the window.

Harry nodded. "I'm not worried about the Dursleys, though." He flashed a grin at her. "Maybe they won't come to pick me up this year." Hope surged through him for a moment.

She smiled wanly back, her forehead creased with worry, before looking out the window. The train gradually slowed to a halt and chaos ensued as students struggled with their luggage while exiting the train.

Harry ducked his head as he maneuvered his trunk through crowds of reuniting parents and students on Platform 9 ¾. The happiness had an air of hysteria underlying it. Harry couldn't blame them, even if they hadn't noticed the strange state of the towns across the country. After Dumbledore's death, nothing felt safe, and King's Cross Station made an excellent target for death eaters. Especially this year, with the majority of Slytherin students pulled out by their parents before the funeral.

He wished that caps weren't so obviously muggle. He'd like to pull one low over his forehead to hide his scar. There were far too many ministry officials here for comfort.

As the crowds thinned, Hermione pulled up next to him. "All those trains stopped on the tracks looked abandoned, too. No lights, no people, the same as in the towns. It's not normal." Her eyes scanned the crowd fruitlessly for her parents.

"Everything will be fine. Don't worry about it." Ron said. "Bad things happen all the time and civilization is still here. What I want to know is what's for dinner. I'm starving!"

"If everything's fine, then where's your parents?" Hermione pointed out.

"Lots of parents are here!" Ron protested, gesturing back to the crowd of parents and students.

"Yes, but do all those parents travel by car to get to London?" Hermione's quick reply silenced Ron.

The friends slowed to a stop outside the barrier to the muggle world. One last search for Ron's parents yielded nothing. With trepidation and concerned looks, they made their way through the barrier at Platform 9 ¾.

Acrid smoke hung over King's Cross Station, surprising Harry to a standstill. Ron's cart nearly knocked him off his feet. Harry quickly got out of the way, barely noticing the pain in his calves that signaled the beginning of a spectacular set of bruises. His gaze swept over the King's Cross. Instead of a bright, bustling crowd, the empty platform allowed him to see the burned out husks of buildings all around him. Glass crunched under foot as he turned around.

"Blimey," Ron breathed. "What happened?"

"I don't know," Harry absently replied. Bits of utility pipe littered the ground, laying in pools of gas-fouled water. The previously smooth brick was pockmarked here and there with bullet holes.

Both turned to Hermione and Ginny and watched their faces pale in shock.

After several long moments Hermione said, "Well, this explains why there were so many stopped trains. It's a good thing the Hogwarts Express has its own set of tracks."

Harry glanced at her in surprise.

"Honestly, Harry! If you would only read _Hogwarts a History_..." she trailed off, the gravity of the situation overwhelming the brief moment of levity.

"I think we should check things out." Harry stated, noticing the small crowd of muggle-born students gathering behind them. A cold trickle down his spine caused him to turn quickly in his spot. Something was wrong.

Danger.

Harry pulled out his wand, regardless of the fact that he was in the muggle world. "Seventh years – take the younger students back through the barrier. We'll wait there for parents. If we need to, we can go through the floo." He paused. Indecision and confusion written on their faces. The hair on his neck stood on end as the feeling of danger heightened.

"Move!" He ordered.

Kids scrambled to heave trunks back through the barrier while Harry scanned the surroundings. Hermione slipped beside him, a question on her face.

"Something's wrong, Hermione!" He grimaced. "More than the obvious." He caught a flash of light out of the corner of his eye. He turned, peering intently into the broken windows of the train station. Could it really be -

"Down!" He yelled, frantically pulling Hermione down with him.

Boom! An earsplitting roar echoed across the platform, pieces of tan brick from the wall housing the portal to Platform 9¾ falling on Harry, Hermione, and Ron.

How does a bullet not go through the magical platform that isn't really there to begin with? Harry wondered numbly. He glanced around and saw that only he, Ron and Hermione were still on the platform, and Ron's trunk was missing. Ginny, Harry realized. She must have pushed hers through while grabbing Ron's. That would make this much easier.

A nasal shout interrupted his thoughts. "We only want your trunks. Do as I say and you won't be shot." Harry, Ron, and Hermione rolled behind the two trunks. Harry whispered quick directions to them.

"Leave your trunks!" The nasal voice was becoming shrill.

"Now!" Harry said, and Hermione dove through the barrier while Harry and Ron grabbed the handle of each trunk and hurled themselves after her.

Harry caught the tell-tale crack of a gunshot as he disappeared, and he knew the extra push on his trunk as he went through the barrier meant his plan had worked – if barely.

He slowly got to his feet and examined the hole in his trunk – a monster-sized slug hole. Maybe it hit his potion's cauldron? That's the only way he could still be alive. He pushed the thought away and examined the crowd of frightened faces.

An authoritative man with tawny hair glided toward him. Of course he'd be here with the rest of his ministry cronies.

"Minister." Harry said coldly, pointing toward the muggle platform. "What's going on out there?"

"Oh, my boy, nothing too much. Apparently a nation went rogue. Irene? Irin? No – Iran! That's it. They fired off some of those silly nuclear bombs, but they all exploded high up in the air, so no harm done."

The minister's jovial tone couldn't be real, could it? Was he just trying to keep everyone calm? Harry wondered.

"All their ekeltricity is out, but I'm sure everything will be back to normal soon." The stress, even the hint of panic, in Scrimgeour's eyes gave lie to his words.

Hermione gasped behind him. "Nuclear weapons? Exploding high in the atmosphere?" She stepped around Harry to ask the minister, "Was it an EMP? An electromagnetic pulse?"

The minister cleared his throat, clearly out of his depth with the unfamiliar muggle words. "I believe Britain's prime minister said something about EMP. He wanted us to help them – imagine that! Who knows anything about ekeltricity? I'm sure things aren't as bad as he was making them out to be. After all, muggles have been around a lot longer than ekeltricity!" He gave a winning smile.

Harry could actually hear Hermione grind her teeth, but she merely asked, "What countries got hit by an EMP?"

"Why, all of them. Didn't I mention that nation that went rogue? Cleansing the Earth of Great Satan and its industrial, capitalist taint. Something about living the same way people did in Mohammed's time." He turned a suddenly hard gaze on Harry and Hermione, as if they were responsible. "This happened just after Dumbledore's death. It hardly seems a coincidence."

Ignoring the minister, Hermione paled again and swayed where she stood. "My parents!" She turned to Harry. "How are we going to find them? It's a war zone out there and it's been a week since all electricity was lost!"

Molly bustled up. "Excellent! We've found you. Something's wrong with the Anglia. Arthur can't get it to work, but we can go home by floo powder."

"But my parents -" Hermione said, voice rising.

"Dear, didn't you know your parents are staying with us? They have been since Dumbledore -" She broke off, voice tight and tears in her eyes. "We were worried about their safety," she finished quietly.

Hermione took several deep, calming breaths. Harry could see that she was still on the edge of panic, but in control now.

"Mrs. Weasley," She began, "The Dursleys couldn't make it. We need to take Harry with us and then drop him off." She turned to the Minister. "He needs to renew his mother's protections."

Before the minister finished nodding, she smiled a bright, false smile and began hustling the Weasleys and Harry to the floo.

"Hermione, what about the other muggle-born students?" Harry hissed.

"We don't have time!" Hermione whispered back. She then turned and her clear voice carried over the crowd, "Minister, the muggle-born students need help reaching their families safely. Parents can't pick up their students at King's Cross - you'll see why if you go across the barrier. Is there anything the ministry can do?"

Harry marveled at the hint of flattery and obsequiousness Hermione deftly wove into her tone of voice. No wonder teachers loved her.

The minster seemed to inflate with self-importance as he agreed that all necessary measures would be taken to reunite students with their families. Flash bulbs went off as Hermione put some floo powder in his hand and shoved him toward the fire.

Harry spun out of the Burrow's fire place, tripping and falling on his face. _Graceful as ever, _he thought. _I really hate traveling by floo._

Hermione spun out of the fireplace and collapsed in a heap on the floor, shoulders shaking with dry sobs.

Harry gradually realized that things were more serious than Hermione had let on at the train station. "Hermione, what's an EMP?" Harry asked quietly.

She shuddered once more and looked up, eyes blank as if she were seeing something other than the Burrow. "Harry, there's not much time," she finally said as she sat down on the threadbare sofa.

Harry noticed a slight tremble in her hands.

"In short, EMP stands for electromagnetic pulse. It's a side effect of nuclear weapons. When an atomic bomb goes off near the ground, the EMP generally spreads only as far as the destruction caused by the bomb. An EMP goes by line of sight, you see." She paused, searching for understanding in the eyes of Harry and the Weasleys.

Blank incomprehension stared back.

An EMP destroys all electronics," she began again. "A nuclear bomb going off 25 miles over Kansas could wipe out nearly all the electronics in the United States. It sounds like Iran took out all the electronics worldwide with strategically placed EMPs. Or perhaps they took control of other countries' nuclear stockpiles through cyber warfare." Horror roughened her voice, and she quickly dashed away angry tears. "The muggle world can't survive without electronics."

Stairs creaked, and Harry glanced toward the staircase. Hermione's parents appeared, and John Granger asked, "What's this about an EMP?"

Helen Granger came to a stop beside her husband, apprehension creasing her face.

Hermione breathed deeply and said, "Iran got everyone, at least according to the Minister of Magic. They wanted to return the world to what it was like when Mohammed came."

Helen convulsively grasped at her husband's arm, seeking security in a world that had just disintegrated.

John froze, as still as a statue, and Harry noticed that Hermione's dad wasn't breathing. He must not understand the magnitude of the problem. Hermione and her family were acting like this was the end of the world.

"Surely things aren't that bad, we can always rebuild..." Harry trailed off.

John Granger took a steadying breath and shook his head. "There will be no rebuilding," he stated. "We need electricity to get food and water to nearly every one on this planet. Food will rot while people starve because we can't transport it. Disease will run rampant as people drink untreated water. Typhoid, cholera. Society will disintegrate in a matter of weeks. Experts estimate that an EMP would result in a ninety percent mortality rate without outside aid." John broke off.

"And there will be no aid." Harry finished grimly. "The Minister of Magic already refused Britain's appeal for help."

Silence stretched out, broken only by slow deep breaths and the rustling of robes.

Finally, John turned to Molly. "How do you get your food?"

"Why, we go to the village market." She stopped, comprehension dawning.

John nodded. "I've studied what could happen in this kind of situation. I call myself a survivalist." He smiled briefly at Helen, a hint of humor in his eyes. "But Helen and Hermione call me paranoid." He wiped a hand across his brow despite the pleasant late afternoon temperature.

We have no time to lose, Molly." Helen stepped into the gap. "We need to send someone to check out things in the village. Do you have a way of going undetected?"

Molly nodded.

"Send someone to the village. Treat it like a war zone. It probably _is._"

Arthur stepped next to his wife, taking her hand. "Molly and I will survey the situation and get any food to be had."

He turned to his wife. "Molly, grab any spare change we have – sickles or pounds. We'll drop by Diagon Alley to gather the twins. After what happened at King's Cross, I suspect we have only hours before whatever this is hits our world."

Harry felt like his head was spinning. The whole world starve? Was that possible? Surely the wizarding world could transfigure the food. That would expose the magical world, but saving everyone was worth it.

"Harry!"

He dragged his attention back to Hermione, a sick dread battling a flicker of hope in his stomach, leaving nausea in its wake.

"You're coming with us." John and Helen were arrayed behind her, tension tightening the corners of their eyes. Hermione's fist clenched the handle of the bag slung over her shoulder, white knuckles belying her determined calm as she strode back to the fireplace.

She withdrew a handful of floo powder from the tin on the mantel, tossed it in and shouted, "Number two Primrose Lane," and whirled away.

Harry hoped number two Primrose Lane was Hermione's place. He nearly tripped over his feet as a he stumbled to a halt in front of the fireplace. Could muggles use the floo network? It wasn't like Hermione to forget about something like that.

"Can you even - " he ground to an awkward halt, embarrassment heightening the color in his cheeks. He felt as if he'd just rudely called attention to someone's handicap.

John smiled kindly and said, "The magic is in the floo powder. Hermione had our home hooked up to the floo network years ago. She wanted us to be as much a part of her new world as possible."

Harry nodded, threw the floo powder in the fireplace and clearly pronounced each word, despite the soot and ash filling the fireplace. He was not ending up in Knockturn Alley again.

To be continued...

* * *

Science Note: The science this story is based on is highly theoretical since nuclear weapons have not been detonated 200-300 miles above the earth since 1962. Our current nuclear weapons are more efficient at producing the three separate pulses that comprise a nuclear EMP attack, so an EMP attack may be more devastating than we anticipate.

A nuclear EMP has three different pulses, E1, E2, and E3. The E1 pulse is produced by gamma rays that knock electrons off atoms in the mid-stratoshere, with the end result of inducing high voltages in electrical conductors. Lightning protectors cannot keep up with this quickly changing surge of electricity, thus burning out computer circuits, not the wiring. Hence, anything with a circuit or a chip could go down. Lightbulbs and hairdryers would work, computers wouldn't.

The second pulse, E2, comes right on the heels of E1 and is produced by the weapon's neutrons. This pulse is quite similar to a lightning strike, and thus only damages electronics because it's coming right behind the E1 pulse, after the circuits are already damaged.

Finally, the E3 pulse of a nuclear EMP is a long, slow pulse that's caused by the weapon shifting the Earth's magnetic field, and then that magnetic field falling back into place. This geomagnetically induces an electric current in long stretches of wire, which is what takes out the tranformer boxes. The pulse travels too fast for the breakers on the transformer boxes to trigger.

Finally, a solar EMP only has the E3 pulse, while a nuclear EMP includes the E1, E2, and E3. There are a lot of variables. Things in faraday cages would be protected. The military may have hardened equipment, although we don't know how diligent they've been in protecting their equipment against this threat since the end of the Cold War. Old cars with vacuum tubes or few electronics – made in the 60s or before – would work. Of course, once they run out of gas in the tank, that's it for them. No more gas can be pumped from the gas stations, since that requires electricity. The same thing applies to all the vacuum cleaners, curling irons, etc.

Most of the information in this note comes from wikipedia's article on electromagnetic pulses.


	3. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

Harry caught a glimpse of Hermione's living room before he planted his face in a large pile of books in front of the fireplace. What...?

He rolled off the books. They were strewn everywhere but on the dark, mahogany shelves lining the walls. Someone had ransacked the room. John and then Helen spun out of the fireplace. John took in the destruction with a quick glance, as if he'd expected it.

"Hermione, Helen, you know what to look for. Put everything salvageable in bags. We'll sort it out later."

Hermione dragged him by the hand up the stairs. "I'm in charge of the books and my room. You can help."

"But – but – how do you know that?" He protested. "You couldn't have expected this!"

"Expected, no." Hermione shrugged her shoulders. "My dad's a survivalist, like he said. Where other kids had fire drills, we had all sorts of 'Pack the essentials and flee for your life' drills. And that was when I was young." She rolled her eyes. "When Dad found out about magic, those drills got more complex and almost exciting."

She paused, lost in memory. "We always humored him and laughed about him being a touch paranoid. I suppose he wasn't paranoid after all, more's the pity."

"So, what are we looking for?" Harry asked.

"Anything that will help with short term and long term survival."

Harry's eyebrows drew together. "But how will we take everything back to the Burrow? There's not enough floo powder." He realized Hermione's family wasn't planning on returning after this night.

Hermione pulled the large purse off her shoulder and zipped it open. For a moment Harry wanted to reach out and touch the woven fabric to see if it felt as rough as it looked. Strange.

"I magically expanded the space inside and added a feather light charm in fifth year. I also added a widening charm to the bag for larger items." She demonstrated by grabbing a large tome – _Shakespeare Through the Ages – _and placed it on the lip of the bag. Nothing happened.

Harry was about to tell Hermione that she'd gone round the bend when the mouth of the purse slowly widened till the book dropped rapidly out of sight. If the purse could sinisterly slurp, Harry was certain it would have. He suppressed the shiver that threatened to run down his spine.

Hermione noticed his distaste and gave a small, apologetic smile. "I was thinking about venus fly traps at the time. Some of that bled over, " she said in explanation.

Harry raised both eyebrows in surprise. Only Hermione could accidently make a monster bag. He resolved to keep his hands as far away as possible in case it decided slurping humans was much better than catching flies. Or books. Or whatever.

He took a deep breath and said. "All right, where do you want me to get started?"

Books were strewn haphazardly across the room, some partially covered by jeans, shirts, socks, and - Harry quickly looked away, but not before his cheeks turned fire-engine red. His eyes lighted on the only items not ransacked in the room – two bookshelves full of magical books.

Hermione followed his gaze. "Harry, sort through my magical books, will you? It looks like those muggle-repelling charms that came with them worked." A faint blush heightened the color in her cheeks. "I'll finish sorting over here."

Grateful for the task, Harry carefully crossed the room, years of Hermione's lectures on book care rearing their ugly heads. He did not want to find out what she would do if he stepped on one of them! As Ron had said, Hermione was brilliant, but scary.

While Harry sorted through the books, he tried to figure out which would be most useful. Anything to do with herbology was obvious. Some potions might help with food production.

Hermione also mentioned long term survival, he reminded himself. That included Dumbledore's charge to first find the life-prolonging horcruxes and then kill Voldemort. Although, Harry privately hoped, perhaps he wouldn't have to kill Voldemort himself. Maybe Voldemort would instead starve if all his horcruxes were destroyed.

With that cheerful thought to sustain him, Harry finished sorting the books. He ruefully noted that he'd decided nearly all the books could be useful at some point, except for care of magical creatures, cosmetic charms, and household management spells. He raised an eyebrow. Household management? Hermione's curiosity encompassed even the driest of subjects.

Hermione reached around him and plucked the household management book out of the discard pile. "This one has a section on weeding charms. Besides, do you really want to do your chores by hand?"

Harry smiled sheepishly. Sometimes he thought Hermione must be able to read minds. He looked around. All of the clothes were packed away – thank goodness.

"I"ll put the books in the bag while you sort through the rest of your things."

Hermione set the bag next to him, the tense look on her face belying the air of calm she projected.

It must be pretty hard to have your stuff looted, Harry reflected. At least he didn't have to worry about his stuff at the Dursleys, since he carried all his worldly possessions in his trunk. Who knows what Dudley would do to anything left behind? He shuddered at the thought. Or perhaps he was shuddering at the prospect of using the slightly sinister carrying bag.

He gingerly held out a book to the bag and watched in fascination as the bag slithered and slurped around the book before dropping it out of sight. He wondered what it would do to his hand. He slowly reached out to touch the mouth of the bag.

A hand darted past him and knocked his hand away. "Harry!" Hermione chided. "Did you want to get sucked into the bag?"

Harry shook his head, partly to say no, but partly to clear his fuzzy thoughts. That was no normal bag."You must have been thinking about more than a simple venus fly trap when you made this. Are you sure you didn't add a befuddlement charm?"

It was Hermione's turn to smile sheepishly. "I was pretty worried while making it," she acknowledged. "I'd just been released from the hospital after we went to the Department of Mysteries."

Harry shook his head, this time in amazement. She must have cast several spells at once inadvertently. Perhaps a few silent spells based on her worries. He'd never heard of such a thing.

He started to feed one book after another into the bag, carefully not focusing too closely on it.

Despite the large pile, he finished quickly and placed the leftover books back on the muggle-repelling shelf. Harry paused, glancing at the nearly empty shelves and piles of discarded muggle books on the floor. Maybe Hermione would come back some day. In a gesture of defiant hope, he placed the muggle books alongside the magical ones.

As Hermione stuffed her bedding in the bag, Harry heard footsteps coming down the hallway. Without thinking, Harry sprang to his feet, stepped in front of Hermione and pulled his wand out in one fluid motion.

John and Helen rounded the corner into the room, each holding a beige bag with plastic pearls woven into the rough weave, just like Hermione's. Harry began to suspect that his friend had been busier than she'd admitted last year. He relaxed his stance and let his wand fall back to his side.

Hermione pushed him to the side and brandished her wand with a smile at him to show she hadn't needed protection.

Her father nodded in approval and said, "Good reflexes, both of you. You'll need those to survive what's coming."

Harry started and stared. He couldn't know about the prophecy, could he?

John's face sobered as he continued. "The destruction of the world's infrastructure seven days ago means that the majority will be running out of clean water and food. Many, if not most, families kept only a few days of food on hand." He shook his head in disgust.

"People would have first cleaned out the grocery stores, either with money or by force. Then, individual houses would be ransacked by people desperate to feed their families. I can hardly blame them." He sighed, face suddenly haggard.

"But why?" Harry asked. "None of this makes sense! Why couldn't we just repair the electrical lines?"

John nodded in sad understanding while Helen answered. "Harry, everything with electronics in it needs to be repaired. All electricity lines, yes. But all cars, water, gas, and oil pumps, all delivery trucks. Every computer, watch, refrigerator and freezer. Everything. The factories that make the repair parts as well. We've forgotten how to live without electricity." Her soft voice reminded Harry of the imperative to let no sound escape outside where people may be lurking.

"Disease from contaminated food and water will soon decimate the population." John continued where his wife left off. "Everyone dependent on medication will die – diabetics, asthmatics, anyone prone to heart attacks. Then, most of the rest will die of starvation."

"Including our friends and family." Helen's eyes welled up with tears.

"But surely we can help your family," Harry protested, the hard knot of despair growing in the pit of his stomach battling with an equally desperate need to do something – to fix this problem.

Yes, he did have a saving people thing like Hermione had said. But as long as he didn't do anything horrendously stupid, then that wasn't a bad thing. Harry vowed then and there to do all in his power to help save as many people as possible.

He felt a part of him die then. The part that rejoiced in playing gobstones with Ron the night before a big potions test. The part that rushed off into danger without thought for his friends' safety. Harry couldn't mourn the passing of this part of him. What was it compared to the lives of his friends? After all, even if he couldn't save the world, surely he could save them.

And if he couldn't save them – horrible thought – at least he would have tried.

Harry squared his shoulders and returned his attention to Helen, who was explaining that both her family and John's were safe for now. Both families were close friends that had gathered for a vacation on John's family farm. Apparently it was more like a fortress up in the highlands of Scotland. John and Helen were the only ones absent due to the dangers the magical world posed.

"What can I do to help?" Harry asked seriously.

"First," John replied, "We'll take these bags back to the Weasleys. Then, we need to find a secure place – secure from the magical and regular folk. We'll need to begin growing as much food as possible. That's short term survival. Then, we need to plan for our long-term survival. Rebuilding civilization, infrastructure, education..." John trailed off, glancing out the window. The light filtering through the white, frilly curtains throwing an orange glow into the room.

"We must be out of the house before anyone suspects we're back." Helen broke in. "There are men leaning against the light poles at the end of the street with guns. They've gone through the house," she gestured at the broken pictures lying on the stairs as they crept down them. "But I don't want to try our luck."

John quickly and efficiently built a small fire. It couldn't even be called a fire, really. Just a bunch of burning twigs that must have been collected from the backyard for this purpose.

Hermione threw her powder in the fire and whispered, "The Burrow!" She whirled away in a blur, clutching her bag to her like a lifeline.

Harry stepped up to the fireplace, grabbed some floo powder and stopped. In front of him, in the place of honor on the mantle stood the Granger's most recent family photo. Hermione smiled out happily at Harry, and he impulsively grabbed the picture before flooing away.

They would all need a reminder of happier times in the days to come.

TBC


	4. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns everything you recognize.

Harry managed to keep from falling out of the fireplace, but just barely. _Third time's the charm, _he thought wryly.

He glanced at the Weasley family clock. The twins' hands pointed at work. Harry's eyes darted to Molly and Arthur – their hands pointed at danger, not mortal peril. He heaved a sigh of relief. They must still be at the village.

Ginny and Ron thundered down the stairs. "You're back! We've unpacked, but that's it. What's next?"

Harry looked around the room for answers, but the furniture and walls stayed mute. "I don't know," he admitted.

John spun out of the fireplace and walked around the room. He glanced out the window and examined the shelves packed with books and nicknacks. "We need to decide whether this place is remote and defensible. How secure is the Burrow?" He directed this question at Ron.

"We've got the standard anti-muggle charms and alarm wards against magical intruders." Ron's face reddened as he continued. "Anything fancier than that costs a lot."

John nodded once. "How would you handle a magical invasion?"

"We would fight them, of course," Ginny piped in.

"It's much better not to be found in this kind of situation. A battle of any sort will wreak havoc on the edible plants. Plus, if every magical person knows where we live, they _will _come for our food." John explained.

"But not our friends!" Ginny exclaimed.

"I'd hope not." Helen's soft voice replied. "But the veneer of civilization is quickly stripped away when people are starving. Some friends you can rely on, yes. Those we must gather together."

Ron had been unusually silent and still during this exchange. His eyes were focused over Harry's shoulders, ginger eyebrows drawn together in a furrow of concentration. Harry recognized this as his chess face, where Ron would calculate strategies and possibilities. During chess he had an uncanny knack for predicting what his opponent would do, but he'd never applied that skill outside chess. Certainly not to his book work.

As Harry watched, Ron nodded to himself. "There are three possibilities. We get over run by wizards and witches seeking food." He started pacing back and forth in the small living room. "The wizarding world looked down their noses at us for growing some of our own food. They'll remember that. The second option is the ministry comes for Harry. He's a pawn to them." He grimaced apologetically at his friend.

"Hey, I'm at least a knight, if not a bishop!" Harry huffed, puffing his chest out. As he'd hoped, everyone chuckled before returning their attention to Ron.

"The final option is You-Know-Who comes for Harry. And for the rest of us. Anyway you look at it, we're too easily found here."

John nodded, pleased as a teacher whose prize pupil just performed beyond expectation. "I agree. What do we do right now, then? Wait for your parents?"

Ron thought for a moment before shaking his head in disagreement. "We need to pack now," he stated. "Clothes, books, food. We can use the trunks from Aunt Muriel, Gideon, and Fabian. We'll need to empty them and repack with only the essentials. As you said earlier, time is of the essence."

"Mum will go spare if we rummage through everything." Ginny objected. "And we just _un_packed."

"Better furious than dead," Ron stated grimly. "Look, Ginny. All I really know is that we're going to have no food soon, but we'll be a target before that happens. What Helen meant earlier is that the magical world is going to collapse soon, even if no one knows it. Food trumps civilization, I should know." Ron barked a harsh laugh. "But we have a short time to prepare. We'll worry about Mum later."

Ron took the stairs two at a time, heading toward the attic. Ginny followed behind slowly, eyes wide as she too began to understand the gravity of the situation.

"Harry, Hermione, gather everything downstairs you'll think we'll need," Ron bellowed back down the stairs.

Harry caught Hermione's eye and nodded toward the bookshelves. For some reason, he didn't think Gilderoy Lockhart's books would make the cut.

John joined Harry as he sorted through the kitchen. Numerous half empty garden seed packets cheered Hermione's father up tremendously. "We'll need all the seeds we can find if we're growing our own food from now on. Helen and I included enough seed packets for our family, but that won't be enough for the Weasleys and their friends." His eyes sparkled with hope.

"Um, Mr. Granger?" Harry asked tentatively. He didn't want to dash John's hopes, but he had to point out the space problem at Grimmuald place.

Sensing another dose of bad news in the offing, John warily replied, "Yes?"

"Well, the only place I know of that's unplottable and has the _fidelius_ charm on it - " Harry broke off when he saw a look of confusion on John's face.

He tried again. "Those are the ways we make a place safe from other witches and wizards."

Understanding, John indicated for Harry to continue.

"The only place I know of like that is Grimmuald place, and it's a town house with hardly a yard to speak of."

John thought for a moment. "What about that school of yours? There's plenty of land there from what Hermione's said. There are even green houses – just what we need for the winter time."

Harry shook his head. "That might work if Voldemort wasn't around. Since Dumbledore was the reason he hadn't attacked Hogwarts." He stopped abruptly, a sharp lump closing his throat. Whether it was due to thought of his home of six years under attack or Dumbledore's death, Harry didn't know. _Probably both_, he decided.

To distract himself, Harry walked to the dish cupboards by the sink. Sturdy, utilitarian dishware was the order of the day. Who knew where they'd end up?

"Harry!" Hermione's voice called from the next room.

"What?" Harry replied, walking to the doorway.

"What about your parent's place?"

"Godric's Hollow? But the cottage was destroyed when my parents died. No house would be worse than no wards." Usually it was Ron's job to suggest the hopeless, impossible, or just plain stupid ideas.

Instead of looking embarrassed, consternation clouded Hermione's face before she half-turned, compassion replacing the consternation in her cinnamon brown eyes. "Harry, Godric's Hollow was a small, hidden retreat belonging to the Potter Estate," she said gently.

"Potter Estate?" He echoed. "You make it sound like there's more than one house my parents owned." He said disbelievingly. "I'm sure someone would have mentioned if the Potters had another house, let alone an estate!"

"Oh, Harry, I thought you knew. I read about it third year, when I was searching for precedents for Buckbeak's defense. It was mentioned briefly in the Daily Prophet before your parents died. The Potter family has a large estate. Generally the old families made their land unplottable and added additional protections each generation."

John laid a hand on Harry's shoulder. "That sounds like what we need. Chances are the Potter estate has dropped out of the collective magical mind, else someone should have mentioned it before now. How do we find the estate?" He directed his question to Hermione.

She shook her head. "I don't know. I've never seen an address or directions listed. Perhaps Mr. and Mrs. Weasley will know."

They finished sorting the downstairs in silence. Harry was grateful for the chance to collect his thoughts. He knew by the size of his vault that his parents had been well off, but there was only enough there to put him through school. Where his parents had found the money to run an estate, Harry didn't know.

* * *

Two loud cracks echoed through the kitchen. Gunshot! Harry dove for the floor behind the nearest chair.

Silence filled the air. Harry raised his head and peaked through the chair spindles. A small part of his mind noted that the chair would have provided little cover if in fact a gun had gone off in the kitchen. _Which,_ he thought, _mustn't have been the case, judging by the shocked look on Molly's face._

Harry sheepishly rose to his feet, an aching tiredness spreading though his limbs. Was it just this morning that he'd left Hogwarts? That seemed eons ago – a whole different world. He was surprised Ron hadn't complained about missing supper yet.

Molly had apparently been thinking through the ramifications of their actions at the Burrow. "Our home won't be secure enough, will it?"

Harry shook his head no.

Her lips trembled and then tightened. She inhaled deeply and finally said, "Grimmuald place, then?"

Once again, Harry shook his head. He couldn't bring himself to ask about the Potter Estate, though. His world had been turned on it's ear one too many times today.

John cleared his throat and smiled at Harry. "Hermione suggested the Potter Estate might do, but no one seems to know where it is or how Harry here could claim the property. We were hoping you or Arthur might know the procedure." His smile turned apologetic, knowing the extra burden he'd just placed on the Weasleys after what must have been a trying experience.

Arthur's eyebrows shot up nearly to his hair line – a difficult feat since he was going bald – before he answered, "The Potter Estate, why, I'd forgotten it completely!" His tone grew thoughtful. "All inheritances are received through Gringotts unless special arrangements are made. I'm surprised Hagrid didn't help you claim your inheritance before your first year."

"He must have forgot." Harry murmured, deep in thought. "He was pretty green after the ride to my vault."

"It sounds like a trip to Gringotts is in order." John stated.

"Tonight?" Molly exclaimed.

"The first few days after a catastrophic event are crucial." John explained. "If we establish ourselves well now, we'll be in a much better position to help our friends."

"Is Gringotts even open this late? It must be seven or eight." Harry asked, secretly hoping for dinner and bed.

"Oh, yes, my dear. It's open around the clock to accommodate those who prefer the nights, such as hags and vampires," Molly replied as she bustled around the kitchen. "There's no time for a hot meal, but you must eat something to keep your strength up." The familiar task seemed to put the Weasley matriarch at ease.

"A wise idea." Arthur joined forces with his wife. "We'll tell you what we found over dinner." His eyes dimmed as he remembered the events of the past few hours.

To Be Continued...


	5. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling

Harry gingerly pulled at his now-red fringe. Surely someone would notice he was no where near as tall as Ron! The difference was so stark even the goblins at Gringotts should notice. He shifted his weight to the side as Arthur heartily clapped a hand to his back.

"Well, now or never, Harry. Everything will go just fine."

He nodded at Arthur, but reflected that it would be a lot more convincing if Arthur could hide the worry in his eyes. Instead, worms wriggled around his stomach and generally predicted doom and gloom for this expedition. He ignored those noxious worms just as he would during the final moments before a quidditch game.

Harry wished he were still eating Molly's delicious dinner, despite the stomach-turning story of the village. Anyone who could make cold cut sandwiches into a sumptuous feast had serious culinary talent.

Arthur startled him by tossing floo powder into the fire and calling out, "Gringotts."

As he spun away, the doom and gloom of the wriggling worms in his stomach changed to a strong foreboding. He threw his own floo powder in and followed, clutching his disillusioned glasses as he twirled through the fireplace. Instead of closing his eyes, he stared, searching for the red light that would blink seconds before his arrival. Who ever would have thought to keep their eyes open while traveling through ash-filled fireplaces? No muggleborn witch or wizard. How the floo network ash was charmed to avoid eyes, but not clothes, was a mystery. Or magic. He laughed at himself silently, careful to keep his mouth closed. Of course it was magic.

As he spun in dizzying rounds, he caught glimpse after glimpse of concerned faces. _The news was spreading, _Harry grimly concluded.

The promised red light signaling his arrival at Gringotts blinked. The twirling abruptly stopped, but Harry was ready for it this time and he placed a bracing foot in front of him as he shot out of the fireplace. If only he'd been told years ago how to travel the floo network without making a fool of himself. Since he was pretending to be Ron, he couldn't very well spill out of Gringott's fireplace like a muggleborn. He suspected the Weasleys had enjoyed the involuntary show tremendously. A culture-wide practical joke.

Harry was going to equally enjoy showing Hermione the secret. She would undoubtedly find it less than amusing. He pitied the Weasleys.

He strode smoothly away from the fireplace and quickly dropped his hand from his glasses, hoping nobody had noticed. A quick glance around showed a nearly empty lobby with all but one teller's desk shut down for the night. The low light emitted by the sparsely placed torches cast a dim, sickly glow over the room. Harry was sure that less savory individuals found the barely lit room an added protection.

Harry slumped his shoulders, slid his hands into his pockets and fell into line behind Arthur, doing his best to imitate a put-upon Ron. With nothing to do but look inconspicuous, he thoughts kept returning to dinner and the grim tale of the village of Ottery St. Catchpole.

He could see in his mind's eye the lifeless cars pushed into barricades, men with guns, knives, and bleak expressions standing guard. The empty, broken, gaping windows of the grocery store hinted at the panic of people desperate to survive.

The occasional body left lying in the street, dead from riots. The sickly sweet smell of decomposition polluted the air. Either the bodies were a warning, or no one was left in the village that cared enough to bury them. Food was more important. The veneer of civilization was thin, indeed.

But most of all, Harry could picture the lone old man clutching close a wrapped parcel of fish. Not even gold galleons could persuade the grizzled, stooped man to part with his prize, for he had "granchilrun to feed, and they canna eat gold." Harry hoped he'd made it home safely.

Gold – could it really be useless? He fingered the key to his vault in his pocket. It may be useless to get money from his vault, but he couldn't think of anything else he could do to help. Yes, they were trying to claim the Potter Estate, but Harry had his doubts it existed. Even if it did, the place had been abandoned for years.

Arthur and Harry finally reached the teller's desk. Arthur presented his key and requested a visit to the Weasley vault. It was better to ask about inheritance laws where no one could overhear.

"To your right," droned the goblin.

They headed toward an open door that led into a narrow stone passageway where a goblin and cart waited.

Despite the long day and bleak situation, Harry grinned as the wind whipped his hair. He particularly enjoyed the steep drops that made him feel like he was flying. _How do the goblins keep people from flying out of the cart? _He wondered.

Arthur's hands clenched the edges of the seat, muscles standing out tautly in his arms. He apparently wasn't relying on magic to stay inside the cart.

A slightly grey Arthur quickly cleaned out the meager contents of his vault. If the wizarding world hadn't dissolved in panic tomorrow, Molly and Arthur would buy any supplies they could.

Harry breathed deeply, looked up, and addressed the snaggle-toothed goblin. "Sir, how would I claim an inheritance from my parents?"

The goblin peered closer and flicked his eyes up to Harry's forehead.

Harry nervously smoothed his red hair over his forehead.

This provided the only confirmation the goblin needed as he bared sharp teeth and greeted him. "Mr. Potter, any inheritance left to you may be accessed through your vault."

Confusion filled Harry before he flushed in realization. He'd never looked through his vault. He'd never thought to. Bank accounts held only money in the muggle world, after all.

He pulled his key out of his pocket and cleared his voice before he could speak. "Could we go to my vault then?"

All previous enjoyment in the cart ride slipped away, replaced by a sick, rolling nausea. His parents had left him an inheritance, and he'd never bothered to look for it! It didn't matter that no one had told him about the Potter Estate. A part of Harry insisted furiously that he should have known.

The cart creaked and jerked to a halt. Trepidation slowed Harry's movements as he slipped out and inserted the key into the lock. The door opened noiselessly. Piles and heaps of galleons, sickles and knuts gleamed in the flickering torch light.

Harry looked at the goblin uncertainly. "What am I looking for?"

The goblin shrugged. "The key to an inheritance changes from family to family. Actual keys, rings, even coins have been used. When the recipient touches the object, the inheritance is bestowed."

Harry eyed the mounds of coins. He'd be here all night if he had to touch each one. He gingerly picked his way between piles while Arthur watched, since Harry had to search alone. A coming of age tradition in the wizarding world, apparently

Near the back of the vault, a shimmering mist sprang into being for a moment as he walked through it. A cool breeze fluttered over his skin. About to turn back to question Arthur about the unusual incident, he abruptly stopped in his tracks as his eyes took in a new vista.

He must have walked through a ward or illusion camouflaging the rest of the vault, for it was huge. Small piles of sickles and knuts littered the center of the vault in front of a man-sized castle of galleons.

A castle of galleons. Harry grinned. There was no way that thing was sticking together without magic. He imagined his father building it with glee, perhaps with Sirius and Remus. He made his way around the small piles of money to examine the it more closely.

A glint of gold flickered out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head around, keen eyes searching the dim recesses of the vault.

Nothing. Nothing but quidditch goals, that is. He laughed aloud this time. Silver sickles and copper knuts alternated, making goals the height of the vault. Liberal use of sticking charms had to be keeping the hoops together.

He let his eyes unfocus as he took in the whole picture. Metal quidditch hoops, grass, and castle glistening in the torch light. Brilliant.

Gold fluttered out of the corner of his eye again. This time, Harry held still. As improbable as it seemed, that gold flutter reminded him of a snitch. He searched his peripheral vision.

A snitch couldn't disappear very well in an enclosed space. Else quidditch could be played inside. But there was an awful lot of gold galleons to provide camouflage.

There! He ran and leaped, hand outstretched. Sensing his approach, the snitch jinked to the right, but too late. His hand closed over the seemingly delicate wings. Time slowed as he flew through the air. A questing presence flitted through his mind and sampled different memories, from most recent to oldest. The final memory, a newborn Harry staring up into his loving parents' faces, his memory arms restricted by a swaddling blanket was proof the snitch searched for. He was indeed the biological child of James and Lilly Potter.

How retrieving such memories was possible, Harry didn't know. But he treasured the gift of the only memories he had of his parents. They were often fuzzy and filled with dirty nappies, but they were his.

Yes, this was the key to his family's inheritance. Elation surged through Harry, blossoming into a warmth and belonging that flooded through him as this information flooded his mind.

"Oomph!" Harry knocked the breath out of himself as he crashed into the wall. Gasping, he rubbed his chest with his hand. Unbidden, the phrase "All good things must come to an end" came to mind. That included airborne flights without brooms, he smiled ruefully.

Expecting some comment from Arthur, he looked at the vault entrance. Instead of a smile or congratulations, Arthur was staring at the piles of gold closest to the door with an air of puzzlement. In fact, he acted like he couldn't see Harry at all.

Harry thought hard. The space illusion charm must show a false back to the vault. He should have a few minutes before Arthur would investigate.

A whispered word and a tap from his wand slowed and then stopped the frantically fluttering snitch. The spell couldn't be helped. Hopefully there were too many people performing magic on Diagon Alley for the ministry to track it. He carefully placed the snitch in his pocket as he whipped Hermione's most recent gift out of his other pocket – a leather pouch with feather-light and space expansion charms. While it wasn't anywhere near as large inside as Hermione's, it was thankfully free of sinister sound effects.

He reached the nearest pile of coins and started stuffing them into the pouch, making sure to include knuts and sickles for those times galleons would raise eyebrows.

He darted from pile to pile, grabbing handfuls of coins as he went. If there was a snitch in the vault, perhaps his parents had left something else. He peered closely into each corner and around the piles. The castle would have to be searched later. Unfortunately.

"Harry!" Arthur called, a worried note in his voice.

Harry slipped the snitch into the bag and took a calming breath. "Yes?"

He safely stowed the bag in his pocked and walked back through the illusion. If his parents had left him anything else, it would take far longer to find than he had time for.

He tried to channel a sulking Ron as he arranged his face into a glum expression before he looked up.

"You disappeared a good five minutes ago," Arthur explained. "Did you find the key?"

"I disappeared?" Harry made sure he looked surprised. "The vault was bigger than it looked, but there's only coins in there." _Now, anyway, _Harry amended silently. "There's a lot of coins in there. More than we could go through in a night. I better just get my money for the school year tonight, instead."

Harry extricated his empty money bag from his other pocket, grateful for the voluminous robes that allowed such large pockets. No one would notice the extra bag he was carrying around. "Maybe we can come back tomorrow to finish the search."

Although Arthur had to be confused, he nodded and agreed smoothly. "Yes, tomorrow is as good a time as any.

Harry filled his money pouch with enough to last him for his final year at Hogwarts that he'd probably never see.

The ride to the ground floor flew by. Harry debated with himself. Should he warn the goblin about the chaos to come? Would they, could they help the situation? Or would they buy all of the available food to make a profit?

The cart screeched to a halt. Instead of hopping out, Harry turned serious eyes to the goblin. "Sir, What's your name?"

The goblin stiffened, suddenly wary. "Scrabbleknife," he replied curtly.

"Do goblins have much to do with the muggle world?"

A gleam entered Scrabbleknife's eye. "There's much gold to be had in the muggle world." He paused, then finished sourly, "Or at least there was."

So the goblins did know about the recent catastrophic events. But did they know how it would affect the magical world? Harry shifted closer to the goblin. While they weren't quite in the lobby yet, caution was still required. "Magical humans depend on the muggle world for food. Will the goblin nation be able to feed itself in light of the recent events?"

"Bah!" Scrabbleknife spat. "Depend on humans to survive? Goblins learned long ago humans can't be trusted." He bared his teeth in what Harry supposed was a grin. "Although we might be persuaded to sell some of our food to the humans. For gold." His grin stretched wider.

For a brief moment Harry could see how the gold would flow in rivers to the goblins. Yes, the wizarding world would spend its last coin in a desperate gambit to feed its children.

After gold, possessions would be sold. Family heirlooms, weapons, property, houses. Then, all that would be left would be their bodies. Slavery and servitude for food. With so much ill will between goblins and humans, the goblins would gleefully snatch the opportunity for a new magical world order.

Still, he had a chance to build up some good will. Harry smiled back and said, "I wanted to make sure you were aware of the danger and that the goblins would be able to weather the coming storm. I see you will do so very well." On impulse, he bowed slightly, a gesture of respect between equals.

Scrabbleknife's eyes widened in surprise, but he returned the bow after a moment's hesitation.

Arthur, silent during the exchange, gave Harry a meaningful glance and tilted his head toward the lobby.

Harry quickly scanned the darkened room, what he could see of it through the open door, eyes coming to rest on the leonine figure of the minister of magic. Harry's thoughts stuttered to a stop.

"Who's in charge here?" bellowed Scrimgeour.

The goblin at the teller's desk looked unimpressed. "Please move to the back of the line. You will be helped in the order you came in."

Scrimgeour's eyes narrowed and the flickering torches in the room guttered lower. "I am the Minister of Magic." He said icily. "My office received an alert that Harry Potter accessed his vault - "He paused, consulting his pocket watch, "fifteen minutes ago. Where is he?"

Adrenaline shot through Harry as hair stood up on the back of his neck. With no time to warn Arthur, he pulled out the last unused item from the deep pockets of his robe and vanished. Bless Hermione for her foresight!

He reached through the filmy cloth of his invisibility cloak to touch Arthur's arm. Arthur jumped, startled to find both Harry gone and an invisible hand touching him. Understanding quickly flitted across his features and Harry was impressed. Perhaps the henpecked husband image he projected was just that – an image.

"Harry," Arthur whispered, a calculating gleam entering his eyes. "Keep a safe distance from me at first, but make sure you follow me through the front doors." With that meager explanation, Arthur shambled over to greet the minister.

Harry shook his head and turned back, expecting to find Scrabbleknife gone. Instead, Scrabbleknife glared fiercely at Harry, as if he could see through the cloak. "For your attempted warning, no goblin here will betray you to the minister," he growled and stalked off.

Harry blinked, struggling against a slow slide into befuddlement. The world hadn't just been turned on its ear today, it was entirely upside down. He ran a slow hand through his hair, and then plunged both hands into his pockets. Yes, both bags were still there. And his wand. With a sigh of relief, Harry strode off after Arthur, making sure to keep close to the walls of the lobby.

"Minister!" Arthur greeted. "What brings you here on this fine night?"

"Nothing's fine about it as you will know." Scrimgeour nearly snarled, tendons in his neck bulging with stress. "I've been absolutely inundated with owls and floo calls. People are demanding to know what the ministry is doing about recent events in the muggle world. Why, there are even some reports about food running short. Of all the nonsense! Everyone knows house elves provide food for the magical world." He stopped to take a deep breath.

"Well, Minister, the house elves can certainly be relied upon." Arthur said sycophantically. Of course, that would have been much more convincing if Harry couldn't see Arthur cross his fingers on the hand resting casually behind him.

Harry smothered a grin.

"I heard you ask for Harry Potter, sir. Perhaps I can help. We saw him just this afternoon, after all."

_Which was true,_ Harry noted, _if misleading._

Scrimgeour peered suspiciously at Arthur, but the fawning innocence on Arthur's face apparently convinced him. "If the Boy-Who-Lived makes a calming, supportive statement of the ministry, I'm sure that all of this," he waved his hand,"will blow over."

"Ah," Arthur said. "Have you looked at the boy's house? Surely he would be there instead of Gringotts this late in the evening."

The minister let out a frustrated huff. "He's not there! No one is! The house is a complete wreck. Clothes and toys strewn everywhere. Even on the front lawn. I've never seen such a mess." His voice brimmed with disapproval.

Harry froze, shock coursing through his veins. He clamped his mouth shut, biting his lip to prevent any sound from coming out. While he didn't care about the Dursleys – they certainly didn't care about him – they had always been there. He clenched his fists, trying to channel the irrational urge to demand more answers from the minister.

As if sensing Harry's dilemma, Arthur hurried on, "But you said Harry was here, sir! I wonder why the boy didn't floo us from his house?" His brow drew together in concentration. "Hmm. Perhaps the muggles didn't have floo powder. The poor boy." Arthur's voice sounded slightly mournful.

The lingering distrust on Scrimgeour's face faded at Arthur's murmured conjecture. His eyes swept the room once more for Harry before asking, "Would you like to accompany me to his vault? He may still be down there. He usually spends only a few minutes at his vault, but these are unusual circumstances. He used his wand while the vault was open, so he's here in person."

A chill slipped down Harry's spine at the casual way the minister talked about his private actions. What else did he know?

"Why, I'd be delighted, Minister." Arthur made small shooing gestures toward the exit with his fingers. He hadn't removed that hand from its resting place on his lower back.

Harry drifted towards Gringotts main entrance. Activating the floo in an invisibility cloak would only cause Arthur's careful misdirections to fall down like a house of cards.

As he waited near the door for someone to pass through, Harry heard Arthur's fading voice remark, "I'm impressed with the surveillance you've placed on Potter..."

Gratitude-tinged awe filled Harry at Arthur's adroit information gathering. Bold didn't even come close to what he was doing, but the hen-pecked, bumbling husband routine put him above suspicion. Exactly how deep under cover had Arthur Weasley lived for the Order? Harry knew then without a doubt that Arthur knew exactly how to use plugs and batteries.

He swept his eyes around the room. Perhaps he could slip out the door when no on was looking.

Strange.

Everything shimmered through his cloak for a few moments, and for one confused moment he wondered if the heirloom from his father was about to give up the ghost. That would certainly be in keeping with the day he'd had.

But in the next moment he noticed his fingers nervously twitching the fabric as fast as a bird's beating wings. Harry forced himself to exhale slowly as he calmed himself. That kind of habit could get a man killed.

The purposeful stride of a goblin toward the entrance caused hope and fear to mix within him in a faintly nauseating way. Hope that the goblin would open the door. Fear that he'd seen Harry's rapidly twitching cloak.

Harry held his breath, forcing himself to absolute stillness as the goblin slowed to open the door. A sly smile spread across the goblin's face as his one visible eye slid sideways toward Harry.

"You are in our debt, Harry Potter." The guttural whisper held more amusement than menace.

"I will not forget the kindness of the goblins." Harry stated softly as he followed the goblin closely through the door.

The goblin snorted.

Perhaps he didn't think the words _kind_ and _goblin_ should be used in the same sentence. A smile spread across Harry's face as he slipped into the shadows of Diagon Alley.

To Be Continued...


	6. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling

Harry's feet carried him steadily toward the Weasley twins' shop, but a faint light deep in Ollivander's wand shop gave him pause.

The minister's casual reference to the magical surveillance placed around his vault and wand flashed through his mind. The Weasley twins had done magic at all hours in the Burrow, judging by the explosions coming from their room. They couldn't have accomplished that without their wands. Was this surveillance specific to him, then? A flash of frustration ran through him as he remembered the ministry had his wand in their possession during his trial at the beginning of fifth year. While the bumbling Minister Fudge may not have thought to add special surveillance charms to his wand, he had no doubt Umbridge would have.

Decision made, he pushed on the door. No movement. How inconvenient. A quick look to the right and left showed no one within earshot.

Rap. Rap. Rap.

Harry winced at the loud sound, but waited. The door cracked open. One pale eye peered through the cracks.

"Wait," Harry hissed, pulling back his hood briefly. "It's me, Harry Potter. I need to see you."

Suspicion narrowed Ollivander's eye. "Show me your wand," he whispered back.

Harry's brow puckered in confusion. Why would that help allay Ollivander's obvious suspicion? Shrugging to himself, he extended a hand with a tightly gripped wand outside his cloak.

The wand maker's eye relaxed and the weathered door swung silently open. "In, quickly!"

Increasing uncomfortable standing on the street, Harry slid through the small opening. Instead of the usual organized chaos of too many boxes on every available surface, black holes on the shelves gaped back at him haphazardly in the dim light.

He knew without asking that Ollivander was packing. The only question was why. He'd only thought to buy a new, unmonitored wand, but entirely new possibilities were opened up if he was already moving.

"What brings such an...unusual guest to my shop?" The old man eyed the invisibility cloak draped over Harry's arm.

"Why are you packing?" Harry neatly dodged the question.

Ollivander looked down. "The muggle world has gone through times of massive famine before. The last time the magical world starved next to the muggle world was during the Black Plague. We were more fearful of contracting the plague than we were of starving, thus all contact with muggles was cut off." His eyes, which had taken a far-off look, snapped back to Harry. He pointed a slightly shaking finger at him. "This disaster, however, is far worse. Magnitudes worse."

Harry wanted to ask how he knew this – Binns certainly hadn't taught them anything about the muggle world affecting the magical one. But there wasn't time. "What will happen?" he asked instead.

Ollivander's tired face looked over Harry's shoulder for a long moment, the far off look returning to his eyes. As if he were looking at some other sight than the half-empty shop. Those pale eyes grew slightly luminous, reflecting the dim light.

Several minutes passed in silence. Slowly, that luminous light faded from the wandmaker's eyes, causing a shiver to go down Harry's spine. _Ron is never going to believe this!_ He pushed away that irrelevant thought impatiently.

"I can only see general future trends and only those of the magical world I belong to," Ollivander explained. "I tell you this in strictest confidence. Dumbledore was the only other who knew." He paused, deep in thought, and then said as though talking to himself, "Goodness runs through you as it did your mother."

Harry was reeling inside. Divination, real? And Ollivander could see goodness? Despite his shock, his resolution to offer sanctuary, such as it was, firmed, but he still needed to determine where Ollivander's loyalty lay. The seeds of a plan took root in his mind.

"But why did you sell Tom Riddle a wand if you can see goodness in someone?" He asked. He knew from the headmaster's memories that Voldemort had little goodness in him at that point.

The half-smile on Ollivander's face disappeared and he at once appeared very old. "Yew wood and phoenix feather," he sighed. "You must understand. A child's personality is not set at age eleven, despite what that silly sorting hat may suggest. While the wand chooses the wizard, I choose what type of wand to let a child try."

The elderly man walked around his shop, stepping around boxes with long familiar ease. "I always choose wands to strengthen the good in a child. In this way, many a potential dark lord has been reduced to petty criminal. Many children walking the line between good and evil have been turned to the light side of their natures." Regret etched its way across his face, tightening skin around his mouth, firming it into a hard line.

"For Voldemort," he continued, "I chose only phoenix feather wands, the most powerful of light influences. The light of the phoenix feather easily overpowered the darker influence of the yew wood. His wand, regularly used, should have had a powerful influence for good on him. Why it didn't..." He trailed off and shrugged his shoulders.

"Perhaps, while preventing a Stalin, we got a Hitler," Harry suggested, not sure the wandmaker would follow his analogy.

"Yes, a matter of degree. I see. But using hindsight, it would have been better to refuse him a wand. It would have been unprecedented, but perhaps the better choice."

Harry disagreed. "Dumbledore would have simply found a different wand for Riddle. He strongly believed in second chances. A different wand might have amplified his evil instead."

"If I had refused to sell him a wand, Dumbledore would have had some warning about what young Tom could become." These thoughts clearly formed a well-worn path.

"Dumbledore already suspected what Riddle was. He knew from the first time he met him." Harry reassured him.

A glimmer of light returned to Ollivander's eyes as he pulled back his shoulders. A heavy burden had been lifted.

Harry cleared his throat and drew himself up to his full height. "I offer you sanctuary, Mr. Ollivander. Will you shelter with me and mine?" The formal words tripped off his tongue, the formula both strange and familiar. It was part of the new knowledge given to him through the snitch.

He watched a myriad of emotions flit across Ollivander's face. Surprise. Relief. Acceptance. Hope.

"I accept your offer," he replied as formally. "With gratitude."

A sense of urgency returned to Harry. He'd been here for near fifteen minutes. Arthur would be leaving Gringotts soon. The last thing they needed tonight was to organize a search party for him. But he didn't want to leave Ollivander on his own. He didn't trust him fully – not yet. How could he, after Snape?

"How soon can you finish packing?" He looked around at the still numerous wand boxes against the wall.

"Within minutes," Ollivander replied. "I'm leaving the weaker wands that can do little harm in evil hands. A nephew will take over the shop once my absence is discovered. For as long as Diagon Alley stays open, anyway." He flicked his wand in a rapid arc, boxes spilling out onto the floor in its wake. "Come with me."

Harry followed Ollivander through the rear door of the shop, past an empty kitchen, and into a cramped bedroom filled with open trunks. He wrinkled his nose at the musty smell.

"Why not bring the weak wands as well?" He asked as the older man swept clothes and a change of linens into the last, partially empty trunk.

"Not enough room," He grunted. "Plus, my plan was to make my departure look like a theft and kidnapping." After another wave of his wand, Ollivander placed shrunken trunks in his pocket.

The shelves and closet overflowed with items, Harry noticed.

Ollivander followed Harry's glance and answered his unspoken question. "I removed the space expansion charms." He nodded at the shelves "An old man like me collects a lifetime of memories in his possessions. I left the least important."

A few minutes later the wandmaker knocked on the door to the Weasley's shop, Harry drifting invisibly in his wake. Light spilled out of a crack in the door as George – or Fred- peered out.

"What can we do for you on such a fine night?" the twin asked.

"Fred," said Ollivander. He apparently didn't have any trouble distinguishing between the two. "I'd like to examine your fake wands. A strange request this late at night, but I can't leave my shop during daylight hours." A half smile drifted pleasantly across his pale features as he waited.

Confusion flashed across Fred's face, echoing Harry's own perplexity. A low whispered conversation ensued behind the cracked door before it slowly opened.

"We can spare a minute or two." He finally said.

Ollivander carefully held the door open long enough to allow Harry to safely enter the room. "I apologize for the minor subterfuge," he said. "But walls have ears, and I needed to be sure no one observed my companion here entering."

Harry hastily jerked off his cloak, and the apprehension on Fred's face smoothed away. "Hey there, mates. We don't have much time – the ministry's looking for me. Your dad headed off the minister at the bank, but I'd guess we have at most a few hours before the ministry descends on your parents house. Scrimgeour looked desperate."

George's mouth fell open in progressive steps throughout this narrative, till Fred – in better possession of himself – knocked his brother on the back of his head.

"Ow!" George protested. "Can't you leave a body alone in his shock?" He rubbed his head, the very picture of wounded innocence.

Harry stifled a snort. Even on this grim night the twins were irrepressible.

"Mum and Dad warned us." Fred said, pointedly ignoring his brother. "All that's left is the finishing touch on our booby traps."

George grinned as he carefully placed a sign in the window.

Harry did not want to know how a sign proclaiming, "Gone to the Bahamas, be back soon!" would be booby trapped. Perhaps the painted picture of the twins lounging on beach chairs, lemonades in hand had something to do with it. He could just see the picture twins jumping out of the painting and wreaking havoc with their obviously enhanced, tanned musculature.

Harry grinned back at the twins. "Let's go."

One short floo trip later – no tumbling onto his face – and Harry was looking into the concerned faces of the Weasleys and Grangers.

"I had a good idea?" He offered sheepishly.

To Be Continued...


	7. Chapter 6

Harry's friends looked back at him expectantly, and a heavy weight settled on his shoulders. Where they lived – that could change everything. If the Potter Manor could be found, if they couldn't grow food there, if it was a tumble-down wreck. All of these things affected their survival and ability to wage war on Voldemort.

To avoid making a decision, Harry was tempted to stall by asking Arthur what happened he'd left Gringotts, but there wasn't time. He felt torn between going to his family's estate – who knew what they'd find – or going to the possibly compromised Grimmuald Place.

They needed to strip the old headquarters in any case. Everything would be required for survival. Except Sirius' mother of course. She'd probably spy for the other side given half a chance.

Still undecided, Harry looked at everyone around him. No one looked overtly concerned about Ollivander joining them, so he began there. "When I overheard at Gringotts they'd been monitoring my movements, I knew I'd need a new wand." He stopped sadness tightening his throat for a brief moment. "The ministry had access to my wand before fifth year."

Understanding dawned across the Weasleys' faces, and Arthur leaned over to whisper an explanation to John and Helen.

"I stopped at Mr. Ollivander's shop," Harry gestured toward the silent wandmaker. "And as he was already packing, I invited him along. We'll need someone with his talents in the days ahead." _Multiple, unexpected talents, _Harry added silently. Ollivander's unexpected divination abilities were his own to share.

That explanation was the easy part, he knew. The rest of his plan was still half-formed. Yes, he knew approximately where the Potter Estate was, and he knew he'd be able to access the security once he got there. How he'd find the security and what form it would take, he still didn't know. He also didn't know what kind of shape his family's place was in. Could they fix it up fast enough?

Slowly he pulled the still snitch out of his pocked and said simply, "I found the key."

Hermione laughed as her eyes brightened with hope. She clasped her hands together in excitement. She usually only got that look at the prospect of new books. Lots of new books.

Ron strode over to Harry with a broad smile. "Excellent! Now we can play quidditch when we get there!"

While Harry grinned back at Ron, Fred and George leaped and cavorted, elbows interlocked as they twirled in circles. They stopped abruptly and asked. "What's this key for?"

At that, the entire room burst into laughter born of relief with a touch of hysteria.

Once Harry regained his breath, he explained. "I had to find and claim the key to my inheritance at Gringotts. Potter Estate is included in that." He smiled at the memory of the elaborate castle and quidditch pitch built out of sickles, knuts, galleons and sticking charms. Lots and lots of sticking charms.

The smile left his face and his posture straightened as he concluded, "We'll need to leave here as soon as possible, I'm afraid." His gaze took in the Weasleys' living room, so full of good people and memories.

"Right on!" said Fred.

"Let's go!" George echoed.

Arthur, merely observing up to this point, stepped in. "I managed to buy us an hour or two in the ministry's search for Harry. They'll leave no stone unturned at this point." A hint of mirth lightened his grim expression as he remembered his diversionary efforts.

Harry smiled at him, a new found respect welling up inside. Arthur was more capable than he'd thought. Perhaps that was the same with the other adults in the Order. He cast a speculative eye at the adults standing around the room. Maybe he wouldn't have to search for the horcruxes with only Ron and Hermione for help.

For a moment, Harry could picture himself and his friends stumbling around in a forest, hungry and alone with a tent for shelter. Surviving only by sheer dumb luck. Harry vowed then and there that wouldn't happen. He would gather adults he could trust to Potter Estate. Surely with help they'd be able to solve the puzzles Dumbledore left. And there had to be a way to ascertain everyone's loyalty.

"We're ready to leave." Arthur's voice broke into his thought. "But we don't know where we're going, Harry."

The sticking point.

"That's the problem," Harry admitted. "I know generally where the Potter Estate is, but I don't know how to get there. Normally I'd say to travel the muggle way, but that's out of the question. I've learned to apparate, but I don't think I can travel that far."

"That far?" Molly echoed. "Where is it? Surely we could floo to someone's house nearby."

Harry was already shaking his head. "Yorkshire is where it is. But traveling by floo leaves a record. Traces. The ministry might track us. We _must_ disappear in order to survive this crisis and Voldemort." Flinches rippled across the room at the use of the Dark Lord's name. "If only we had untraceable portkeys." He sighed. Dumbledore could make untraceable portkeys.

Arthur frowned, deep in thought. "Hmm. The Anglia's shot. The car was made long enough ago it doesn't use much ekkeltricity." He shrugged. "I could fix it, but that takes time. And Yorkshire's a bit far to fly in one night. Portkeys and floos are also out."

Harry was once again struck by the cracks in Arthur's facade. The habitual mispronunciation of electricity, with the casual statement that he could fix the elderly car. Harry had no clue where to start, and he'd grown up in the muggle world.

Ginny, observing up to this point, suggested a solution. "Why don't we fly and then camp? We can put up protections against muggles using Mr. Ollivander's new wands, since ours could be compromised. The ministry will never find us in the middle of a forest."

Her words triggered Harry's previous picture of stumbling around in the forest. He shivered. _That will not happen, _ he promised himself.

"Perkins's tent!" Molly exclaimed. "You know, I don't think we gave it back after the world cup. It completely slipped my mind with all of that ruckus." Her lips tightened when she reached that inadequate word. She bustled up to the attic to search for it.

Cats, Harry grumbled silently, sure it would be too childish to complain about the cat hair and smell of the tent. It solved one of their problems, after all.

Fred and George swaggered up to Harry. "You tried to hide your dread," said George.

"But not very well," continued Fred, draping an arm across Harry's shoulder.

"No, indeed." George slid up to Harry's free side, dropping a heavy arm down on top of Fred's.

Harry struggled not to stagger. Years of the twins' antics allowed him to keep a straight face. "Oh?" A raised eyebrow accompanied the question.

"A brand new, dragon skin tent -" started Fred.

"Expandable up to six bedrooms!" Years of sharing cramped rooms were behind George's fervent statement.

"Nearly indestructible, with all of the modern accessories: ice box, self-cooking oven, winter heating and summer cooling," Fred finished with satisfaction.

"Thanks, guys." Harry felt like the ball in the tennis match, turning his head back and forth between the twins with each new description. Only one more question for the tricksters before he clinched the deal. "Does it come with regular, human sized beds?" Harry narrowed his eyes with mock suspicion.

"Feather soft," George promised.

Harry looked carefully, and unsuccessfully, for crossed fingers. "I'm in."

A soft bed sounded heavenly right now. Instead of dwelling on that thought, Harry shrugged out from under the twins' heavy arms and rooted through his trunk to find his Firebolt. "How did you just happen to have a brand new tent? Weren't the shops closed when your parents found you?"

The twins rummaged through their own trunks for their brooms. _It's a good thing brooms are charmed to be packed in trunks, _Harry reflected. Carrying an owl around King's Cross Station had been conspicuous enough.

"Shortly after we opened our shop - "Fred began, eying the stairs.

"We decided we needed an escape route." George's face was unusually serious.

"We don't do anything illegal, per se."

"But misunderstandings do happen -"

"And can take time to clear up." Both twins gazed at Harry with open-eyed innocence.

"Uh-huh." Harry drew out, enjoying their slightly worried expressions. A word to Molly about the rationale behind the tent would bring them a world of trouble. But Harry would never do that to friends. Especially friends offering him a soft bed free of cat hair. He winked as he heard Molly's foot steps tread down the stairs. "What luck that you decided to camp this summer. I'm sure you would have found tons of potions ingredients for new products."

"We'll still keep our eye out," said Fred hastily, relief quickening his movements as he repacked his trunk.

"Anything to help the cause," George agreed, closing the lid of his trunk with a louder bang than necessary.

The living room grew crowded with people and trunks. All extra camping gear was stowed with brooms in hand. Harry looked around for Hedwig's cage. There - under the Weasley's clock. He slid around Ginny and reached over Molly's battered trunk to snag it. Hedwig would follow on her own.

What Hermione had done with Crookshanks he didn't want to know. If he went down her expandable bag, he had the feeling that bag would soon be coughing up unhappy fur balls. Blech.

"I don't think my old Comet will carry both a trunk and me." Ginny's hand tightened around the well-used broom.

"I have a solution," Ollivander's soft tones carried throughout the room. "I can guarantee my wand has no locator or monitoring spells on it. Unfortunately, I can also confirm that everyone else's wand is, in fact, monitored." He grimaced. "The ministry. It's on every wand that comes back into my shop. Yours included."

Harry nodded. "He can shrink trunks as well." He figured this must be unusual since no Hogwarts student had shown up with a miniaturized trunk in the six years he'd been there.

Heads whipped around toward Ollivander in astonishment.

"But - " Arthur stopped, struggling with a concept that clearly went against the laws of magic as he knew it. "But you can only shrink one thing at a time! Everything's a different size in the trunk."

"Yes." Ollivander agreed. "Simply put, I used arithmancy to create a variable shrinking spell using the size of the container as a reference point. May I?" He inclined his head in Harry's direction as he pulled out his wand.

Harry nodded his agreement, having already seen this apparently amazing feat of magic. In short order, the crowded living room became manageable with shrunken trunks packed securely in pockets.

_Now what?" _Harry wondered. They were ready to go, yes, but he still had no clue how to get to Yorkshire and his estate. He didn't even know where the Burrow was in England.

A white cocker spaniel flitted into view and took the decision out of his hands. Urgency filled the room as they stared at the patronus message.

"The minister's minutes away. Hide Harry!" Kingsley's voice shattered the silence. The cocker spaniel turned once in place and faced away.

No words were necessary. A sharp alertness filled the air as first the Weasleys piled out the kitchen door, followed by the Grangers. Harry was forcibly reminded of grade school fire drills. The silence, the lines of people, and the quiet sense of purpose.

Arthur held the door open for Harry. With one backward glance, he shut the door firmly. "John, climb behind me."

John hastily did so.

Helen clutched Molly tightly, eyes closed, face tucked into her back. Molly's mouth was set in determination, betrayed only by her tears glistening brightly in the moonlight.

Harry swiftly mounted his broom and kicked off. As if on cue, eight additional brooms rose as one, following Harry as he flew low over the forest, the glow of the Burrow slowly receding in the distance.

To Be Continued...

A/N Egads. Writing this story and watching the world news makes me want to go to the store and stock up on chocolate and everything else I like to eat... :) How about you?


	8. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

The forest blurred into a long, dark smear. Harry wished they could stop here for the night, but it was far too close to the Burrow. That forest might as well have a neon sign hanging over it, directing the ministry to search there.

The distant drone of an airplane captured his attention. _Surely it couldn't be._ _Hadn't the EMPs destroyed all electronics?_ Harry looked around him, searching for the beacon of civilization. To his right he spotted blinking red and white lights.

Harry rubbed his eyes with one hand and angled his broom toward Arthur and John, who'd taken the lead.

"Maybe things aren't so bad!" He jubilantly jabbed his finger in the direction of the plane.

John shook his head and gazed with concern at the plane. "It's either a military plane with hardened electronics, a DC-3 or something similarly small or old. If it's a military plane, it will have radar."

Radar. Flying people on brooms.

Without a word, Arthur dove steeply for the top of the forest, the rest following close behind.

As his feet nearly skimmed the tree tops, Harry tried to clear up his confusion. "Hardened? What does that mean? And why would a DC-3 be able to fly?"

John was still looking at the airplane, carefully watching as it drew closer. "It can't be a DC-3, since its running lights are working. A DC-3 was built long enough ago – in the thirties and forties – that it flies with little to no essential electric circuits. But the lights tell me it's a military aircraft with hardened electronics." He swallowed before explaining. Shouting over the wind was hard on his throat. "Hardened electronics are protected from the surge caused by an EMP. That electrical surge is what fries all the circuits."

Harry processed that for a minute or two before asking, "Do you think they're going for help?"

"Perhaps."

The lack of hope on John's face told Harry that probably wasn't true. After all, where would the aircraft find help?

John cleared his throat. "Most likely they're seeking retribution on Iran. Preventing them from organizing what's left into a new Islamic world order. Their stated goal since their revolution in 1979 has been a global caliphate."

Cali-what? Harry decided he'd leave that question for later. Much later. All he needed to know was that Britain was trying to prevent it.

A chill went down his spine as he imagined Voldemort forming an unholy pact with muggles who wanted to rule the world by killing most of the people on it. To distract himself, he asked a more mundane question, "Where are we going?"

John, avidly gazing below at the landscape passing by, answered without looking up. "We're about 75 kilometers east of the New Forest National Park. I'm sure it's practically overrun at this point by people seeking food. Wild mushrooms, food of that sort. We'll find a spot and secure it."

75 kilometers. Harry sighed with relief. A few hours of flight and then blessed sleep. He smiled his thanks. As he drifted slowly back, Hermione caught his eye. Even in the moonlight he could see her white knuckles gripping the broom.

"Hermione," he called, just loud enough to be heard over the sound of rushing wind in their ears.

She slowly inched her head toward him. "Yes?" she managed to push through tight lips.

Harry remembered her piercing screams while riding Buckbeak during third year. He was sure a similar scream was being held back only by their urgent need for stealth. He eyed her broom. Ron's, judging by the many helter-skelter tail twigs. Ron's old broom steered like a car with its alignment out. Badly out. And it vibrated like an airplane perpetually flying through turbulent air.

At least they weren't flying all night. Perhaps she'd feel better knowing that. "Hermione, we're only two hours away from camp."

If possible, her face grew paler.

_Brilliant, Harry! You just made things worse. _Since he didn't think offering to switch brooms in mid air would go over so very well, he tried again to help her to relax. "I'll be right behind you. You know how good I am at catching the snitch." He smiled encouragement.

She gave a sharp nod, her posture still screaming tension. "That might be more reassuring Harry if the snitch didn't weigh about a gram!" Her humor did what Harry's attempts at support hadn't as her hands slightly loosened their death grip on the broom.

Harry settled into position flanking Hermione. Wind whipped through his hair, and he smiled despite the grim situation. The joy and freedom of flying prickled along his skin, raising goose bumps. Or perhaps the goose bumps were caused by the night-cooled breeze.

Forest gave way to farmland and then hamlets, villages, and cities. The preternatural silence rang in his ears. Wind was all he heard – no hum of cars on the motorway. No electric buzz of air conditioners, none of the constantly present background noise declaring the presence of civilization.

Regardless of the death of electricity and all that implied, there should be some sign of the hundreds of thousands of people below.

Harry listened intently, as if he were listening for the faint flap of a snitch's wings in the middle of a quidditch game. After several minutes of concentration, he slowly separated various sounds from the shout of the wind. The brief wail of a hungry infant, a woman's terror filled scream. Gunshots punctuated the night like a horror-filled symphony.

If he was a muggle this night, he would be hiding in an unlit house, praying to not be found by the gangs filled with the Dudleys and Vernons of the world. If folks like his family hadn't managed to burn their houses down trying to cook what little food they had left.

His eyes focused on the fires burning unchecked below, the result of such well-meaning incompetence. Clouds of smoke filled the air above the largest fires – invariably in the cities – nearly choking the fleeing, flying families above. Harry searched through the darkness ahead, trying unsuccessfully to spot the plumes of smoke before he found them with his nose.

He heaved a sigh of relief once Arthur and John started skimming the treetops of a new forest, searching for a safe spot to camp for the night. They dropped from sight abruptly, disappearing into a black spot too dark for his night vision to penetrate.

Hovering over the forest, each person seemed reluctant to follow them. Harry couldn't blame them. Crashing into trees as they tried to follow blindly would be only too easy. What he wouldn't give for a wand that couldn't be tracked right now. "Let's wait for the all-clear." He whispered just loud enough to carry to everyone.

Twin groans of disappointment floated from behind him, and Harry laughed. _They_ hadn't been hanging back out of reluctance. They'd been planning. What, he didn't want to know. Only the twins would think flying into a pitch-black forest an opportunity for mischief.

Arthur's faint figure rose out of the gloom. "Wendell!" He called.

_Wendell?_ Perplexity ran through Harry till Mr. Ollivander moved forward. After a brief, whispered conversation, he touched Arthur's broom with his wand. A gentle, unearthly light radiated from the broom. At Ollivander's gesture, each person flew by him on their way through the gap in the canopy.

Soft blue light from many brooms filled the forest, casting ever-changing, conflicting shadows. More than once Harry's heart leaped into his throat as he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. After each false alarm, he wondered what would be worse: ministry employees, wild animals, or muggles.

Everyone landed quickly and Ollivander touched each broom again, wordlessly dimming and extinguishing the blue glow. "Make sure to use no magic while setting up camp," he cautioned. "Right now I have the only wand the ministry can't track."

"But can't you use the finite charm on our wands to get rid of it?" Ginny's hands were on her hips. The idea of setting up camp without magic was unappealing this late at night. Or rather, this early in the morning.

"No, unfortunately. Tracking charms embed themselves in the wood and use the magic of the caster to power it." Ollivander sounded less than pleased the ministry had interfered with his wands.

Harry's mind whirled with possibilities he hadn't considered earlier this evening. The potential magnitude of the ministry's betrayal was literally too much to grasp – except for one fact. "Do you mean the ministry could have found Voldemort at any time?" His breath came harder and his fists clenched into hard balls by his side.

"Ah." Ollivander nodded. "Let us set up camp and I will address your question." He held up his hand to quell Harry's rising protest. "I must cast the muggle-repelling wards as quickly as possible. I'm afraid we attracted attention in our effort to get down safely."

Harry nodded his agreement and made an effort to control his breathing. A movement out of the corner of his eye distracted him.

Fred held a miniature trunk in his hand and gazed at it forlornly. "Not using a wand makes me feel like a muggle."

"I hope it gives you some sympathy!" Hermione had her nearly bottomless bag open, hand deep inside rummaging through its contents. She lowered her voice. "This would be much easier with a summoning spell. The tent is in such a small package." She huffed in frustration.

Harry stared at her. "You have a magical tent?" Was everyone more prepared than he was?

Echoing his thoughts, Hermione said "It's all part of living the prepared life. And magical tents are much better than muggle ones. I particularly like the automatic heating and cooling charms." She grinned, white teeth dimly reflecting the moonlight. "I'm sure the Dursleys never took you camping in below freezing temperatures. Not fun, I tell you!"

Harry was beginning to wonder if Hermione would have to slurped up by the bag herself before she'd find her tent.

The crackle of footsteps on dead leaves broke his train of thought. Ollivander's form gradually took shape. His keen gaze quickly took in the young adults. Without breaking a stride, he tapped his wand on the twins' miniaturized trunks as he went by.

The oblivious twins, caught up in their theatrical mourning of their temporary loss of magic, staggered and then fell under the weight of their suddenly normal-sized trunks.

"Oof," George grunted, the air whooshing out of his lungs. He'd managed to land on his back, trunk on top, after a brief struggle to regain his balance.

"Likewise," Fred said, voice high and thin. He'd managed to drop his trunk painfully on his foot.

Ron, silent till now, growled in perfect imitation of Mad-Eye Moody, "Constant vigilance!" His perfect timing broke the little group up into laughter, Fred and George the loudest.

That was one thing Harry admired about the twins. As many jokes as they played on other people, they were still the first to laugh at themselves.

After that, they quickly bustled around. Harry loved magical tents with an automatic set up feature. No pounding pegs into the ground.

The twins' sleek, dark dragon skin tent faded into the blackness of the night. A wave of exhaustion rolled over him as he walked in through the tent flaps. He stumbled to the room one of the twins pointed out. The surroundings blurred before he pulled his glasses off, and he thankfully sank down onto the mattress fully clothed. He'd ask Ollivander in the morning about Voldemort's wand.

To Be Continued…

A/N Sorry this chapter is out later than usual today. Traveling 1200 miles without access to a computer will do that to a person. :)


	9. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling

Harry squinted into the bright sunlight as he stepped out of the tent. Dead leaves rustled as he walked and he breathed deeply. The scent of cooking eggs filled the air and sent his stomach into rebellion. Food now, everything else later.

Molly puttered around the campfire, stirring scrambled eggs while checking the temperature. This was no ordinary fire, as could be seen by the entirely blue flames. "A magical fire, dear," she explained to Helen with satisfaction. "The flames can be adjusted to the desired cooking temperature."

"I can't tell you how many meals I've both burned and undercooked!" Wistful longing crossed Helen's face, many years of survival camp outs remembered in each burnt or raw detail.

Harry eagerly scooped the eggs onto his plate. Sliced mushrooms weren't his favorite, with the smooth texture reminding him that he was eating fungi. But his stomach was empty and complaining would go over poorly.

Ginny skipped over and sank down on a nearby rock. "I helped Hermione's dad gather mushrooms this morning! Now I can tell which ones aren't poisonous." She paused, doubt clouding her face. "Probably."

Harry was torn between envy that she got to learn something neat and regret that anybody had the idea of looking for mushrooms in the first place. He settled for the first option. "I wish I could have been there," He smiled at her.

Ginny colored slightly. Before she could say anything else, a voice interrupted them.

"We'll go out looking for other edibles later. But first, you two have an appointment with Mr. Ollivander." John said, at ease with the juxtaposition of his muggle world with the magical.

Harry nodded and finished off the last of his breakfast, wondering when he'd eat eggs again once their supply ran out.

"Ready for a new wand?" he asked Ginny, holding out a hand to help her up.

Her face brightened as she rose to her feet. "Oh yes! Mine's an old family wand." She flourished it. "But you never get as good a result unless the wand picks you."

_How much of wand lore was encouraged by Ollivander for his own purposes?_ Out loud, he said, "I wonder what kind of wand you'll get. For that matter, I wonder what I'll get."

Ginny's footsteps quickened with excitement. Harry smiled. They all needed to find joy in the small things.

They crossed the short space of the clearing quickly, weaving around the two other tents set up near the trees. Crunching leaves and twigs announced their approach. Ollivander briefly glanced at them before continuing to carefully pull wand boxes out of one trunk. His other trunks served as tables. He was clearly not going to place such precious items on the moss and dirt-covered ground.

Excitement surged through Harry as well, reminding him of his first trip to get a wand when he was eleven and the world was so much simpler.

"After a new wand chooses you, your old ones must be safely stored away. " Ollivander spoke without turning toward them. "Perhaps someday you will be able to use them again." A sad smile graced his lips briefly as he faced them, a final wand box held in his hand.

"Ladies first." Harry gestured Ginny forward.

With slightly pink-tinged cheeks, Ginny moved to stand by one of the trunks carefully stacked high with boxes of varying lengths.

As Ollivander handed Ginny the first wand, Harry asked, "Why do you have different sized boxes? Wouldn't it be better to have one size?"

Snatching away the wand with a muttered grumble, Ollivander smoothly handed Ginny a second wand as he replied, "The size of a wand tends to be directly correlated with one's potential for greatness." He chuckled at the twin looks of confusion on Ginny and Harry's faces.

"That is, a student who comes in may have the potential for great accomplishments, accomplishments of great evil or good. Amount of magical power is often, but not always, correlated with greatness." He eyed Harry at that, no doubt remembering their conversation from the previous night.

Harry nodded back in silent acknowledgment.

"I naturally of course do not know what kind of greatness an individual may be destined for." Ollivander didn't bat an eye while uttering this falsehood.

_Partial falsehood,_ Harry amended to himself. He suspected that Ollivander encouraged those who could do great evil toward small wands

To find out, Harry asked, "What size wand did Voldemort have?" He was curious if the wandmaker would hear and answer his unspoken question.

Ollivander glanced sideways at Harry, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes. "13 ½ inches."

Longer than average, definitely. "About how long was the average wand he tested?" he tried again, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Hmm. I believe I started out rather small with him. Around 8 ½ to 9 inches. The last wand he tried was also the longest."

Harry was willing to wager that a 13 ½ inch wand was the smallest wand Voldemort was compatible with.

A brilliant streak of magenta stars shot up in an arc toward the treetops, interrupting their conversation. Ginny slowly brought the smooth, tan wand down to her chest, clutching it close. "Thank you," she said, her voice muffled as she looked down.

"There's nothing better than creating a perfect match between wand and wielder," said Ollivander, satisfaction coloring his voice. "Rowan wood with a dragon heartstring from a Chinese Fireball. 11 ½ inches, whippy, and excellent for ancient rune work."

"About the length of my wand..." she trailed off, teeth chewing her bottom lip. She looked like she wasn't sure she wanted to know if her power or potential for greatness was low.

"Above average," came the distracted reply. Ollivander was already piling boxes for Harry to try.

Ginny's face brightened again and she darted off. "I want to show Mum. She'll be ever so pleased. I'll be back!" she called over her shoulder.

Harry doubted she'd be back anytime soon once Molly had her in her clutches. He eyed the ever-growing pile of wands. Evidently Ollivander remembered Harry's last attempt to find a wand. With a pang at the thought of replacing his old wand, Harry began.

Wand after wand yielded little to no result. At least this time Harry was able to prevent wild bursts of magic from shooting into the air and signaling their presence to all and sundry.

The large pile of wands trickled down to one, and then none. Ollivander shook his head absently. "No, no. The other wands are much too small and weak. Unless - " he broke off and glanced at the lone wand he'd placed earlier on the wand trunk. The last wand he'd pulled out.

"What about that one?" Harry pointed. "It looks fairly long." And then he blushed as realized how that sounded, assuming he was destined for greatness.

Doubt crossed Ollivander's face. "That's an experimental wand. It may be better if I craft one for you."

But the wand box filled Harry's mind till it was all he could see. The longer he looked at the plain white wand box, the stronger the urge to open it became. He took an involuntary step forward before stopping. He remembered the befuddlement charm on Hermione's slurping bag. Concern sharpened his voice as he said, "Maybe that would be for the best."

Ollivander's face flickered as heard the tightness in Harry's voice and observed an involuntary twitch as Harry reached for the wand before aborting the effort.

"Oh, dear. Yes, that may be best, but I fear it might be too late. It appears this wand has already chosen you."

Harry simply nodded, his muscles knotting with the strain of standing still as the siren call of the wand flooded through his mind. "This is not normal," he forced out through gritted teeth.

"Perhaps..." Ollivander paused. "Perhaps the goodness that runs through you will make something much different of this wand. Yes, much different than the original one." He handed Harry the wand, a slight tremor in his hands causing the box to flutter like a hummingbird's winds.

Harry, his mind screaming caution, slowly reached out to remove the lid. The dappled sunlight cast strange patterns on the light, stained wood. A desperate voice in the corner of his mind babbled. _Why do these things always happen? Karma. Bad karma. I must have broken one too many baby toys. Or one too many curfews. If I had known where it would lead, I never would have done it, I promise..._

Promise or no promise, Harry wasn't able to resist any longer, and he grasped the wand.

To Be Continued…


	10. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling

A cool tingle raced through Harry, beginning with the fingertips on his wand hand and rushing inward till it encompassed his whole body. While mildly pleasant at first, the tingle increased to a buzzing that was almost painful. Heat replaced the coolness, and he began to burn.

Every bit of him was catalogued by an impartial, uncaring force – every thought, feeling, experience, and motivation he'd ever had. Every doubt and fear, every action. His knees began to shake, and after what seemed an eternity, gave out.

He bowed his head, certain that the growing heat in his chest where his heart had been meant he'd burn from the inside out. Some experimental wand!

A hand briefly touched him, but pulled back sharply as if scorched.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the heat of judgment turned into peace, acceptance, and then welcome. He basked in the relief. No pain. The moment stretched out for an eternity. Abruptly, Harry came back to himself, expecting to see a circle of concerned faces around him.

Instead, only Ollivander peered anxiously at him. "The wand bonded with you. That's highly unusual. In fact, it's unheard of in most generations."

"Bonded?" That one word took all of his strength.

"As you know, most wands develop an affinity to their masters. They often perform poorly for another even when legitimately won in a duel."

Harry nodded. While he hadn't known this, it made sense. No wizard ever borrowed a wand. Ron never had borrowed one during second year when he'd resorted to spell-o-taping his broken wand.

Hands clasped tightly behind his back, Ollivander continued. "Every now and again, a wand of such power will be created that a near sentience is achieved. An almost-soul, crafted of pure magic, and connected to the world's reservoir of pure magic." He cast his eyes round about their small clearing, as if hoping for an interruption.

Harry followed his gaze. Hermione and her parents sat close together near their tent, deep in conversation. Ginny carefully watched Molly demonstrate how to reduce and raise the fire by wand. Arthur, Fred, George, and Ron were missing.

Ollivander inhaled deeply, drawing Harry's attention back to himself. "No hard facts tell us what can happen next. Legend describes both a judging and an imprinting. If the wizard or witch fits well with the wand, the wand will imprint the characteristics of that person onto itself."

Harry looked at the long, light colored wand in his hand. His fingers itched to drop it, but he somehow couldn't. Instead, his hand clenched ever more tightly around the wand. Questions laced with fear ran through his mind. "Can it possess me? Like an _imperius_?"

Understanding replaced the concern in Ollivander's eyes. "No, Harry. The wand now has your personality traits, but _almost_ is the most important word here. An almost-soul and an almost-sentience isn't an actual soul or sentience. The wand can't make decisions or carry out actions. But it can amplify your choices and actions that involve the wand." He paused here, eyebrows drawn together, eyes squinting with concentration. "The bonding and personality imprint is key to that, I suspect. Your actions that reflect the personality traits now imprinted on the wand will be magnified.

"Oh," Harry replied, a part of his mind wincing at that intelligent response.

Ollivander lowered himself to the damp forest floor, mindless of the morning dew soaking through his dark robe. Minutes passed as Harry struggled to take in yet another change. He should be grateful for what sounded like an immensely powerful wand. But the scrutiny, judgment and pain he'd felt from this innocent-looking piece of wood troubled him.

Soft footsteps whispered toward him. "Everything all right, Harry?" Hermione asked.

Gratitude welled up in him. If anyone could figure out what had just happened, it would be Hermione. He opened his mouth to reply, but Ollivander spoke first.

"I'm afraid that an experimental wand chose Harry. Bonded, rather." Regret tinged his tone and deepened his voice.

Hermione first looked at Harry and then Ollivander, eyes widening with surprise and then suspicion. "What kind of experimental wand?"

Ollivander sighed as if he'd been hoping Hermione wouldn't ask that very question. "Recently I tried my hand at recreating the Elder Wand." He paused to see if she understood. "I couldn't allow it to fall into nefarious hands."

Harry shuddered at the thought of this powerful wand imprinted with Voldemort's personality. What would Voldemort be capable of with a wand that amplified his negative traits instead of dampening them?

Hermione's gasp interrupted his thoughts. "The Elder Wand? But that's a fairy tale!"

"Ah, but many fairy tales are based on real events, are they not?" Ollivander replied.

"But...but..." Hermione's power of speech deserted her. She was clearly running fairy tales through her mind, searching for a grain of truth in them. Ollivander took some mercy on her.

"Some years ago I was able to examine a wand I believed to be the Elder Wand. I wished to make a masterpiece.' He shrugged, gazing off into the distance. "The Elder Wand is made of elder wood fifteen inches long with thestral tail hair as its core. Somewhat snappy. I found it quite difficult to find elder wood with just the right tension in it." He smiled fondly at the wand in Harry's hand.

Hermione asked a last question. "But legend has it that only one who has conquered death may make an elder wand. Only the Peverell brothers did so!" While Harry's wand was unusual, Hermione wasn't quite ready to believe a child's storybook come to life.

"You raise the key, question." Ollivander tilted his head toward Hermione in acknowledgment, a rather difficult feat as Hermione was standing, hands on her hips, in front of the two sitting wizards.

"Sit down," Ollivander patted the bracken-covered ground. "My neck's not as young as it use to be."

Just his neck? Harry wondered exactly how old the wandmaker was.

Hermione looked around before she gracefully folded herself down onto the forest floor. "An excellent idea."

Ollivander smiled gently before continuing. "As you may have surmised, I'm a bit older than I look."

Harry and Hermione gazed expectantly at him.

"I'm at a crossroads here, Harry." He stopped again, rubbing a hand over his face and he appeared for a moment every one of his unknown number of years. "What I'm about to tell you I have told no one, not even Albus Dumbledore."

Hermione leaned forward. "Sir, we understand that we don't need to know everything."

"Ah, yes." Ollivander peered at her through his spectacles. "Normally I would never consider confiding in a pair of teenagers, no matter how worthy they might be." He absently turned over the empty wand box in his hands. "Something deep inside tells me this choice is pivotal."

"Pivotal for what?" Harry asked, foreboding growing. Perhaps he didn't want to know this secret after all.

Tension puckered Ollivander's brow. With perplexity threading through his voice, he said, "Pivotal for something big. Something dark. Something secret. I can't tell you better than that. And yet, over the years, I've learned to pay attention to that voice inside me. It's generally right."

"Generally." Hermione repeated.

"Yes, generally. You see my dilemma. I can't tell you more than this. All I can see is darkness for the world – terrible darkness."

Harry didn't want to know this from a source far more reliable than Trelawny. _Was there no hope?_

Echoing his thoughts, a pale Hermione asked, "But surely there's hope? Isn't there always hope?" Her pallor shone like a loud beacon.

Instinctively, Harry again took stock of the camp with its busy inhabitants. No, he didn't want this to get out.

"That's the question." Ollivander stopped abruptly and lowered his voice. "If I share with you the story of my origin, I see a small glimmer of light in that darkness. Why, I don't know." Decision thus made, Ollivander's shoulders straightened and he began his story.

To Be Continued…

A/N Sorry this chapter's a little shorter. It was a natural break. Otherwise the chapter would have been way too long.


	11. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns whatever you recognize...unfortunately :)

Ollivander leaned against the ragged bark of an ancient oak tree and began. "My father was an unusual wizard. Precocious to the extreme, he desired to learn the secrets of alchemy at a young age, and so he did. Born of parents with means, he studied with the best potioneers and alchemists in his teenage years till he became a master in his own right." He paused, surveying the two.

"But I've never read about a potions master with your last name!" Hermione was clearly running through mental lists in her head.

"Yes," Ollivander acknowledged. "Before he was fully grown he mastered the secrets of the philosopher's stone."

Harry's eyes grew wide at this. If Ollivander had a philosopher's stone...

"While granting a limited immortality, limited in that he lived as long as he drank its elixir, it also changed him."

"How?" Harry asked.

"He was still maturing, still growing when he first partook of that elixir of life in triumph, without thinking. All of his children were blessed, or cursed, with a near immortality. I can be killed, but I won't grow any older than you see me now."

Harry looked closer at Ollivander. He had grey hair, but his wrinkles were fine. His face was firm with none of the sagging that invariably came with age as gravity began to win its lifelong battle against the human body.

Ollivander smiled knowingly at Harry's examination. "My father itched to discover the world, as many young men do. Armed with his newfound wealth, he did so. Until he met the oracle at Delphi. My mother."

Hermione's lips slowly formed the word _oracle_. Harry had the sneaking suspicion that her belief in the quackery of divination would shortly come crashing down.

"She took a brief stint as an oracle mostly for the entertainment value. She was a dryad, you see."

If that wasn't a conversation bomb, Harry didn't know what was. As the silence stretched on, Harry blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "Then why aren't you green with leaves in your hair?"

Laughter burst out of Ollivander. His face grew red before returning to its normal aged pallor. "Excuse me, my dear boy. I needed that." He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his eyes, raising his glasses off the bridge of his nose. "The current myths and legends have very little bearing on reality, although it is true that the life of a dryad is closely tied to its birth tree and the subsequent trees produced by that mother tree."

"They must have planted those trees far and wide," Hermione mused.

"Oh yes. As you might guess, America's legend of Johnny Appleseed actually stems from a dryad ensuring his survival." Ollivander's eyes twinkled with amusement.

"But if your mum was a dryad, what was she doing as an oracle?" Harry asked. Perhaps if he understood Ollivander's divination better, he'd know if he could trust guidance from it.

"Dryads are magical creatures first and foremost. But like humans, they vary from person to person in ability." Ollivander explained. "While my mother had the basic skills all dryads do with growing things, she excelled at foreseeing the future."

"But the future changes with each decision we make," Hermione protested. "No one can possibly keep track of it all."

"That no one can is perfectly right." Ollivander was undisturbed by Hermione's logic. "But magic can."

Hermione's mouth opened and closed once, then twice. Magic as an information repository for what is and what would be completely blew her away.

Silence reigned over the little group for several minutes before Hermione hesitantly said, "If I change a hedgehog into a pincushion, then I'm simply changing the defining information in the magic itself about that hedgehog. Right?"

Personally, Harry was rather horrified at the implications. If magic was a huge database, no wonder they could track all registered wand usage. In fact, what prevented the ministry from monitoring every bit of their lives?

"Why can't the ministry just track us instead of using our wands? And why hasn't the ministry captured Voldemort when he was using his wand?" The questions tumbled out of Harry in a rush.

Hermione, eyes bright, sat up straight, closely watching the old man as he responded.

"Sensible questions. Thankfully, the ministry doesn't understand the nature of magic well enough to directly access pure magic to track people or make changes. Instead, they use archaic rituals boiled down into spells to access magic. All for the better, in my opinion."

Ollivander pulled his glasses off and cleaned them with the handkerchief still crumpled in his hand. "As to your second question, there are two possible explanations. The most benign one is that Voldemort somehow managed to extract the core of his wand and embed it in a different piece of wood. This is nigh near impossible to do without damaging the core. I could do it. Presumably there are other wandmakers in the world that could do so as well." He perched his glasses back on his slender nose. "It's the wood, you see, that carries the ministry tracking spell embedded deep within it."

"The second explanation is much more troubling. Collusion and corruption within the ministry. Wouldn't the minister have posted a watch on Voldemort's wand-tracking charm? He must have received it like all Hogwarts first years at the welcome feast."

Harry frowned. He didn't remember any spell cast on his wand that first day.

Observing Harry's confusion, Ollivander explained. "That's one reason why they separate out the first years. A disillusioned ministry employee non-verbally casts the charm before they get sorted. The students are nervous and excited - they never notice a thing."

Harry pushed aside the disturbing implications of a ministry that would cast spells on unsuspecting children without their parents' permission. Perhaps the ministry used the ban on magic for students during summers as an excuse to cast the tracking charm. Any magic done in front of muggles would then trigger an automatic alarm. The fact that the ministry couldn't remove the tracking charm once the students graduated was a bonus.

There was no time to delve in to all the injustices perpetuated by the ministry, unfortunately. After taking a moment to gather his thoughts, Harry said, "In any case, Professor Dumbledore said few knew Voldemort's true name -" Harry stopped, grief and regret washing over him in waves. There was so much he wished he'd done differently the night Dumbledore died.

Hermione placed a comforting hand on his arm. "Yes, and Tom Riddle went traveling for quite some time. When he came back he was Voldemort. It seems likely he had his wand altered then."

Ollivander's troubled face cleared. "Perhaps then the ministry is not so corrupt as I feared."

Harry would have sighed with relief if he could get anything around the hard lump in his throat. The ministry was certainly not to be trusted, but perhaps it hadn't gone over to the dark side entirely. _Yet._ Harry grinned humorlessly.

Hermione began to speak, then stopped. Uncertainty colored her movements as she settled herself into a more comfortable sitting position. Finally, she asked, "We know you must be really old." Hermione blushed at her gaffe. "I mean, you've lived a long time," she amended. "But when were you born?"

"I'm not sure." Ollivander smiled at their confused reactions. "Time keeping was not so exact then as it is now. But I did open the original Ollivander's store, if that gives you an idea."

"382 BC?" Hermione squeaked.

Harry wanted to laugh at how high her voice went, but he also wanted to live longer. He could see the headlines: "Boy-Who-Lived Whacked to Death by Best Friend!" and "Muggleborn Accomplishes What You-Know-Who Couldn't!" Harry's arm hurt just thinking about it, and he consoled himself that he was taking the high road by not laughing at his friend. He wasn't henpecked at all. Just preserving the use of his very important wand arm.

Oblivious to Harry's internal byplay, Ollivander nodded at Hermione. "I inherited an affinity for wood and magical creatures. Wandmaking became both my hobby and my passion."

"What about your mother's divination?" Harry asked. "Did you inherit that as well?"

"I sometimes wish I had. Instead, because I am part human, I can only look into the glass darkly, as it were. I can catch glimpses, but that's all." He smiled wistfully. "Still, it's saved my life a fair few times. Mortal injury will kill me."

Ollivander looked beyond Harry. "I see it's almost time for lunch."

Harry, startled, turned to Hermione.

"You slept in quite late, Harry." Hermione shrugged.

Late, indeed. Harry turned his attention back to Ollivander. "So now we understand how you conquered death. But what is the Elder Wand?"

"Briefly." Ollivander glanced once again over Harry's shoulder, monitoring Molly's progress with the food. "The Elder Wand bonded with its original owner, a ruthless, war-like, and cunning man. The wand amplified those traits in the eldest Peverell brother, to his ruin."

Fear rippled through Harry, and he closely examined the wand he'd twirled in his hand throughout the conversation.

Ollivander correctly read the apprehension on Harry's face. "If the oldest Peverell brother had possessed a spark of good in him, that would have been amplified as well. But he didn't. In contrast, you possess goodness to a depth I rarely see in humans."

Harry struggled to not blush at the compliment. Judging by the heat in his face, he most likely failed.

"Finally, the bond between you and the wand will also reflect and amplify your desire to grow and continue to become a better person. Always cultivate that and this wand will become a great tool in your quest to aid mankind." Ollivander leaned forward, eyes boring intently into Harry's.

_Always grow and continue to become a better person. That's all. _Harry's thoughts were colored with sarcasm.

"Sir? What if Harry gets angry? Will the wand amplify that?" Hermione's voice had become small, as if she expected her question to elicit from Harry the very response she asked about.

This time, Harry flushed with embarrassment as he remembered being angry all the time fifth year. It must have seemed that much worse to his friends. Harry looked down at his wand that was now lying still in his lap.

"The wand will not amplify passing emotions – only those things deep down at the core of Harry's soul. If Harry became so deeply angry it became a part of him, then indeed that would be a danger. The wand would then become his master, leading him and all those around him to ruin."

Ollivander then reached out a bony hand and clamped it around Harry's wrist with surprising strength. "You must guard against that. Perilous times come that try the hearts of men, and better men than you have fallen prey to their emotions."

Eyes wide, Harry swallowed hard.

To Be Continued...


	12. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling

"Where's Bill and Fleur?" Ron asked, scarfing down another plate of mushrooms and eggs with some sort of wild tuber mixed in.

_Mushrooms._ Harry sighed and dug his fork in, grateful for the strong scent of burning firewood to cover the taste. That helped.

"They were out on the town last night. We didn't dare leave a note at the Burrow or Fleur's flat." Arthur said. "The ministry shouldn't detain them, at least not yet."

Harry looked at Molly. Her face was pinched with worry, but she didn't contradict Arthur.

Harry changed to a lighter subject. "Ron, did you gather these?" He poked the wild tubers on his plate.

"No, but that would've been neat. We've been searching through Grimmuald place." Ron replied. "Hermione made us some of those brilliantly scary bags." He held up a brightly beaded bag that shimmered in the sunlight.

Harry repressed a snort of laughter. Hermione couldn't have picked a more feminine bag. Hermione's eyes crinkled at the corners when she looked at him, as if she too were trying hard to swallow gales of laughter.

Oblivious, Ron continued. "A good thing, too. We caught Mundungus filching everything valuable. Or dark." He glowered at his now empty plate.

Harry's interest piqued. "What did you do with the dark stuff?"

"I just wanted to throw everything in the bag, but Dad wouldn't let me." The tips of Ron's ears flushed red at the memory.

"Thankfully, Sirius had a quarantine box for that sort of thing," Arthur said as he stood.

"But Dad, what about Bill, Charlie, and Percy?" persisted Ginny. Even though the marriage was suppose to be little more than a month away, Fleur wasn't high on her priority list.

This time Molly answered the question. "Albus Dumbledore was a great man.'" She pulled out a gold dragon fang, a doll-sized broom, and an antique brass pocket watch.

Harry did a double take. Was that broom a Firebolt? He peered closer. Those sleek lines couldn't be mistaken, even in miniature.

"The broom and the dragon fang are two-way, password-activated portkeys." Molly finished.

Harry sat back abruptly. Portkeys were his least favorite method of wizarding travel. With his luck today, his brand new super wand would somehow activate both portkeys. Simultaneously. His eyes widened at the grisly image that conjured. Just to be safe, Harry sat on his hands.

Hermione glanced sidelong at him, clearly wondering what he was doing.

He just smiled back.

"Not only that," Molly continued, curling her fingers protectively around the objects. "But these portkeys will home in on Bill and Charlie themselves, instead of a particular location. I don't know how Albus did it."

"Only Professor Dumbledore," Hermione murmured.

Even the crackling of the fire died down as each person there remembered the headmaster.

Ron broke the silence. "Bill and Charlie had better not be in the loo when we use the portkey!"

Silence again reigned for a moment as everyone looked at Ron and imagined a quartet of rescuers landing in a cramped loo in front of an astonished and disgruntled brother. Then they each broke up into laughter. Ginny bent over holding her stomach while George moaned that Ron had stolen his thunder.

"I needed that." Molly said, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. "So much has changed..."

"Mum, is the pocket watch a portkey for Percy, then?" Fred's guarded tone said he wasn't sure he wanted Percy along.

The smile left Molly's face as she looked at the watch still nestled in her palm. In response, she flipped the cover open.

They crowded around. The simple, clean lines of the watch face contrasted with the sharply pointed Gothic arch curling around a picture of a smiling Percy. Instead of numbers, small print letters scrawled out different words: ministry, family, the Order, Harry Potter, and Voldemort. One scripted word in the center declared the purpose of this unusual watch: loyalty.

Harry turned away quickly, embarrassed that loyalty to _him_ was even an option. Now he knew why Molly and Arthur hadn't discussed contacting Percy. Percy's hand pointed directly at the ministry.

Given Percy's performance last Christmas, he would no doubt do his best to bring the ministry down on Potter Manor. For Harry's own good, of course.

A soft click reached his ears as Molly closed the watch and slipped it back into the pocket of her robe. "The watch is also a two-way portkey, just like the others. All of them unauthorized. Albus seemed to see our needs ahead of time."

The implication was clear. The loyalty meter would allow them to know when it was safe to pick up Percy. Hopefully that would happen while he was still alive.

"Percy will be welcome at Potter Manor when the time is right." Harry said. Percy wasn't his favorite Weasley by any measure, but the beaming smile Molly bestowed on him made putting up with Percy worth it.

"I've got to learn how he made those!" Hermione mumbled to herself as she stared at the pocket of Molly's robe.

Harry laughed. Hermione pounced on any new opportunity to learn, and woe unto any who stood in her way. Perhaps Hermione found his laughter inappropriate, since she said, "Harry, imagine the usefulness of a loyalty clock we could add all the members of the Order to! Better yet, create an _i__mperius _clock to show when anyone has been placed under that horrid spell!"

The word's tumbled out so fast Harry could hardly understand them.

"Isn't that like what the ministry does with our wands and portkeys? The authorized ones anyway?" Ginny asked.

Whoomph. Harry felt like he'd just taken a punch to the gut from Dudley. No, worse than that. He let his breath out in a whoosh. "You're right." He said. "We can't do that."

Hermione was not dissuaded. "It's not the same if we ask permission. Besides, who wouldn't want protection from an _imperius_?"

Ron nodded in agreement. "And if they aren't willing to be put on the loyalty clock, then we won't let them in to your manor. It's as simple as that."

Harry's brow furrowed. Troubled, he asked, "But won't they starve?"

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but Ollivander spoke from behind them first. "Pardon me for listening in on your conversation." He bowed slightly.

For a moment Harry could picture Ollivander as a wizened Chinese sage. He shook his head to clear it as Ollivander continued.

"I couldn't help but hear. I suspect the magical world will gradually remember the tale of Sleeping Beauty. The magical tale, not that insipid muggle version. Princes to the rescue, indeed!" He harrumphed.

Harry and Hermione glanced at each other. Magical fairy tales?

Seeing their questioning look, Ollivander took mercy on them. "The draught of living death! That's why that draught was created – to allow magical folk to live through times of deep famine."

"That's silly!" Ginny said. "Why don't we grow our own food? That's what we do at the Burrow, as much as we can, anyway." She tossed her red hair over her shoulder.

"I'm afraid growing food is looked down on as muggle work." Ollivander shook his head sadly. "At Hogwarts the food is provided, so you most likely haven't run into this prejudice yet. But any adult wizard or witch growing their own food..." he trailed off, not wanting to give offense.

"Oh." Ginny looked down. She'd probably thought their old clothes and lack of money the primary reasons for the snootiness of many in the magical world. No wonder the Malfoys looked down on the Weasleys. Not only did they like muggles, but they also did muggle work.

Harry decided to ask a question that had been bouncing around the back of his brain since yesterday. "Why can't we transfigure our food?" He tried to keep his tone neutral. No need to rub the obvious in their faces. Or, judging by Hermione's exasperated huff, make himself look dumber than necessary,.

He cast a sidelong look at Hermione to gauge how badly he'd stumbled. Once Hermione stopped looking at the sky as if asking for patience, she began. "Those students who chose to actually read their transfiguration book first year might have found the basic rules of transfiguration. Such as any food transfigured out of any nonfood item retains the nutrition of the original object. Transfiguring grass into strawberries still gives you the nutrition of grass. Besides that, permanent transfiguration is rare. That strawberry would turn back into grass in your stomach. Or parchment. Or whatever you used."

There went that brilliant idea. But still, ignorant or not, Harry wasn't about to let go without a fight. "But Hermione, there's obviously more atoms in a strawberry than in grass. Where do they come from? Maybe they provide more nutrition."

Hermione fixed him with a stare. "Air. The extra atoms come from the air. Not that the textbooks use the word atoms." She sniffed, disdain written across her face. "It's the equivalent of what people use to do in times of famine. They'd add sawdust to the flour to make it stretch farther."

Hmm. That might be why the Weasleys grew their own food instead of transfiguring it. And, come to think of it, why the wizarding world bought their robes. Having one's robes revert to a tatty old sheet in the middle of Diagon Alley would be rather embarrassing.

* * *

"Think like a squirrel. Think like a squirrel." Ron muttered.

A smile broke across Harry's face. Somehow, he didn't think Ron meant anyone to hear that quiet statement.

A much louder cry of triumph came from Ron, and Harry sighed. Maybe he'd do well to take a leaf out of Ron's book. He rolled a half-dozen or so acorns around in his hand – a paltry number compared to his friend.

"How do you think like a squirrel, Ron?" Harry called out. While watching Ron's ears turn a delicate shade of pink was always fun, he needed help.

"Ah- Uh-" Ron stuttered, glancing sideways to where Hermione's dad patiently searched under a bush for a squirrel's cache.

"Seriously." Harry took mercy on his friend. "I'm getting nowhere here."

Ron's relaxed, his voice taking on a distant quality as he shared his memories. "When I was little, the garden gnomes were always stealing small things. You just have to picture yourself small and figure out what would be a good hiding place."

Harry shook his head in doubt. "But aren't garden gnomes just a bit smarter than squirrels?"

Ron hefted his heavy bag of acorns. "Apparently not."

The hours crawled by as the Hogwarts students learned about wild edible muggle plants. Acorns, wild strawberries, lambs quarters, dandelions. Harry was not anxious to taste the yellow flower he'd spent hours rooting out of the Dursley's lawn.

John surveyed the assembled pile of food with satisfaction. "An excellent start. We'll make survivalists out of you soon enough."

Ron groaned softly and Harry agreed. Hours of pretending to be a squirrel left a distinct ache in his back. Despite all that work, he couldn't imagine that pile feeding their group for more than a meal or two. Where were the house elves when you needed them?

"House elves!" He shouted.

Everyone looked at him in askance. Harry laughed, spirits buoyed by the idea he might not be spending endless days pretending to be various animals in search of food. "Don't worry. I've not gone round the bend. Yet." Harry grinned infectiously.

Ginny's eyes danced with mirth while Hermione's narrowed eyes indicated she followed his train of thought. And didn't like it.

"Hermione – house elves need to eat, too!" Harry protested. "Surely if we ask they'd help. Specialization, dividing out tasks. That sort of thing." Harry's voice had turned pleading.

It was Ron's turn to snicker into his hand as Harry's ears turned red. Still, Hermione's help – and blessing – was essential.

"You don't want the house elves to starve, do you, Hermione?" Persuasion, intellectual persuasion, was his only hope. Maybe if he repeated his arguments enough, she'd tire of them and agree.

Hermione flashed a quick smile and relented, clearly aware of his rather pathetic attempt to sway her. "Let's start with Dobby. He'll let us pay him properly, which will set the right example for the rest."

Ron snorted. "They'll just think he's barmy, you know."

"Now, maybe." Hermione raised a stubborn chin.

Ron opened his mouth to reply, but Harry quickly elbowed him. He sensed a classic Ron statement coming that would put Hermione's back up. That was the last thing he wanted with the nearly painless victory he'd just won.

"Ow!" Ron rubbed his side. "What was that for?"

"Preventive action." Harry grinned and nodded toward Hermione.

"Honestly, you two! I'm not one of Hagrid's monsters you have to keep calm at all costs." Hermione narrowed her eyes.

"Oh no, Hermione!" Ron soothed, thus proving her point.

Hermione's mouth turned down.

"You're more like..." Ron searched for the right word. "A tiger protecting her cubs when it comes to house elves."

A pleased laugh flew out of Hermione. She covered her mouth quickly to hide a smile. "So long as you remember that Ron. And Harry." She turned a sharp gaze on him.

Harry held his hands up in mock surrender. "No worries here."

"Hen-pecked," came the nearly inaudible whisper from Ginny.

"Survival," Harry shot back, this time in a loud stage whisper.

Everyone laughed while John smiled indulgently at their antics.

Soon Harry found himself trooping back to camp, a basket in each hand. He heard John deep in discussion with Hermione on how to make a magical food pantry trunk. Apparently tossing baskets of food into one of her nearly never-ending bags made retrieval difficult.

Harry pondered the house elf problem. How would he get in touch with Dobby? He doubted calling out his name would work with so much distance between him and Hogwarts.

"Dobby?" he called out nonetheless. Nothing. Nothing except strange looks. "I thought it was worth a try," he said sheepishly.

"Excellent," said John, surprising Harry. He'd been walking so quietly behind them after he'd finished talking with Hermione that Harry had forgotten John was there. _Poor situational awareness,_ he told himself. _That needs to be fixed._

"That's survival thinking," John continued. "Anything that helps us do things faster is essential. As you can tell." He gestured toward their partially filled baskets.

"Still, Harry," Ron said. "You have to be within a mile or two for house elves to hear you."

Harry shrugged in reply.

"How will we get in touch with Dobby, then?" asked Hermione.

"Let's invite McGonagall for dinner. We should ask Dobby's employer first before we try to steal him away. It's only polite," came Ginny's surprising solution.

"Invite her to dinner? In the forest?" Harry's eyes widened at the thought.

"Of course. With Mum cooking these weeds, they'll at least be edible, and we need to get in touch with the Order to make plans. Voldemort's still out there," Ginny said matter-of-factly.

Voldemort! Harry had been so focused on the here and now- on food – that he hadn't been thinking. What about the Order? Remus? And Hagrid? Guilt settled into a heavy rock in the pit of his stomach. How would they ever fight Voldemort when they were too busy trying to find food?

A hand sharply rapped the back of his head, the unexpected blow snapping his head forward. "Hey!" Harry protested, searching for the culprit.

Ginny's face looked both smug and too innocent. As Harry eyed her suspiciously, she grinned and said, "Don't be so hard on yourself, Harry! It's the day after we've come home from Hogwarts. Wouldn't you normally be weeding flower beds or something?"

"Or something." Harry agreed. His chores at the Dursleys were not something he wanted people to know about. Still, that dark knot of guilt had lightened. "Thanks, I think." He finally grinned back, one hand rubbing the back of his head.

"It's all in a day's work," said Ginny loftily, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth despite her attempt at being serious.

"All right." Harry addressed the rest of the group. "Let's invite McGonagall -" A sharp look from Hermione caused him to quickly amend his statement. "Let's invite Professor McGonagall for dinner."

To be continued...


	13. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

Professor McGonagall perched neatly on a smooth rock near the campfire. "Excellent soup Molly. Do I detect a hint of wild strawberries?"

"Yes indeed, Professor," replied Molly. "The children found them this afternoon." The flickering firelight across Molly's face couldn't hide her pleasure at the compliment.

"I loved picking them as a girl," reminisced McGonagall. Her Scottish brogue broadened slightly as she relived happy childhood memories.

Getting the new headmistress for dinner without alerting the ministry had been no small feat. A patronus messenger could not be sent for fear McGonagall would not be alone. Sending an owl would have taken far too long, assuming the ministry didn't intercept the owl.

Harry stroked Hedwig's feathers, grateful she'd stopped in for a visit before she went hunting that night. Judging by her satisfied hoots, he suspected Hedwig was enjoying her freedom from the Dursleys.

His eyes drifted back to the professor, and he felt only a twinge of regret that he'd had to reveal the secrets of the Marauder's map. Short of apparating to Hogwarts in person, the map was the only way they'd had to see if the headmistress was alone and not talking via the floo.

Harry remembered both Molly's shock and her tight-lipped repression of that shock. The map had become a valuable tool, regardless of how Harry or her children had used it in the past.

Careful scrutiny of the map allowed them to avoid sending a patronus when the minister had been striding through the halls of Hogwarts with a number of muggleborn students trailing behind him on his way to McGonagall's office.

Once a rendezvous point had been appointed – the Shrieking Shack – Arthur used side-along apparation to bring McGonagall to their meager camp.

"I don't know what I'm going to do with those poor students whose families have disappeared." Minerva was saying.

"But surely there's room for them at Hogwarts!" Arthur protested

"Room, yes. Food, no." Minerva's mouth turned down before she continued. "We ordered our food from the muggle world, the same as everyone else. All except the specialty items like pumpkin juice. We barely have enough to feed the staff and house elves for the summer." She sighed and placed her empty bowl in the dirt.

"I don't see how Hogwarts can reopen in the fall," she finished heavily.

"Aye, Minerva." Ollivander spoke for the first time. "T'would not be wise to bring back the children and overextend. Not with You-Know-Who floating around as well."

"But- but-" the Headmistress sputtered, one of the few times Harry had ever seen his teacher lose her composure. She must have been hoping they'd contradict, not agree, with her.

"Minerva." Ollivander's tone softened as he reached out to pat her hand. "I know you've devoted your life to Hogwarts and that Hogwarts has a long, proud tradition. But even the four founders would agree that the lives of the students are more important than their education."

Minerva folded her hands in her lap to hide their slight tremble. "Without Albus, it's only a matter of time before You-Know-Who makes an attempt to take over."

"No, let's be honest," Ollivander stated bluntly. "He would have either stormed the castle or taken it over via the ministry by the end of the summer. Killing children is unpopular even with the majority of his supporters."

"What is left for us then?" McGonagall whispered, hopelessness drawing deep lines in her face.

"The final strike." Ollivander said.

"Oh no!" The headmistress's voice regained its strength. "How would you even know-" she stopped and began again. "Only headmasters and headmistresses know-" she grimaced and straightened her shoulders.

"Albus." Ollivander smiled enigmatically. There was no need to say anything further.

"Final strike? What's that?" Arthur asked the question on everyone's mind.

Minerva surveyed the group clustered around the fire. For a long moment she said nothing. Then, with a final glance at Ollivander, she began.

"A thousand years ago, when Slytherin first separated himself from Hogwarts in protest, the three remaining founders knew retaliation from Slytherin or his descendents was possible, even probable. They created a two-fold covert defense. The first is an entire lock-down of Hogwarts. Every living thing must be evacuated first before this defense is remotely activated."

McGonagall paused, uneasy with sharing such privileged information. But times had changed. This wasn't just a fight for control of the magical Britain, it was a desperate race to win before they all starved. She looked over her glasses, casting a piercing look at each student in turn. "Need I remind you that this information is never to be repeated? Not in anger– "

Harry and Ron gulped as her gaze settled on them.

"Not as part of a prank."

Fred and George shifted in their seats before arranging their face in identical innocent expressions. Harry wanted to laugh – they must have practiced that – but he knew better than to bring McGonagall's ire down upon his head.

"And not even in your dreams." She twirled her wand in her hand with surprising dexterity before turning the rock beside her into a pincushion. A pincushion full of very sharp pins.

"Aren't the needles supposed to be dull on the one end?" Ron whispered to Harry.

Harry elbowed him, but too late. McGonagall swung her head in their direction, pausing to allow them to squirm before speaking. "That was the point, Mr. Weasley."

"Oh." Ron swallowed loudly before adding, "Ma'am."

"I'm glad we understand each other," the headmistress said before continuing. "As I was saying, everyone – and every item that might be needed – must be evacuated. The wards that will be erected are the strongest known to the magical world." She paused for emphasis. "Not even one particle of fresh air can pass through those wards."

"Ma'am?" Ginny's soft voice cut through the thick silence.

McGonagall nodded for her to continue.

"That's primarily a defense, as strong as it is. What is the final strike?"

McGonagall sighed. "The magical energy residue produced by each spell from each child through out the years has been stored within every particle of Hogwarts. If I deemed the situation dire enough, I could trigger the release of that energy all at once."

She breathed deeply, face grey in the firelight before continuing. "The resulting explosion would dwarf any bomb produced by muggles. Hogsmeade would most certainly be destroyed along with any attacking force on Hogwarts."

Harry scooted closer to the fire, suddenly cold. He held out his hands to warm them. A world without Hogwarts? A world without his home?

Arthur's strong voice rang out, surprising Harry. Normally Arthur sounded self-effacing or hen-pecked. "Our next step is clear, then. We must evacuate Hogwarts and lock it down." His tone softened as he said, "Let's hope we only have to use the final strike option as just that – our last resort. With luck, if we first evacuate and then announce that evacuation, Hogwarts itself will become a non-player in this war."

McGonagall seemed dazed for a moment, squinting at Arthur as if seeking to confirm his identity before protesting, "But where could we evacuate to? Hogwarts is the single largest structure in magical Britain." She curled her lip in disgust as she amended, "Excluding the Malfoy estate, of course."

Harry's eyes widened in surprise as he glanced at Ginny across the fire. She nodded in confirmation. _No wonder Malfoy was such a ponce!_

"There may be a possibility you haven't considered, Minerva, but I'm afraid it's not my invitation to offer." Arthur studiously did not look a Harry.

Perplexity drew McGonagall's eyebrows together in an unfamiliar expression of confusion. Harry felt the same way. What was Arthur talking about?

A sharp elbow from Hermione interrupted his breath and his thoughts. _What?_ She looked meaningfully at him for several seconds before he realized Arthur had been referring to Potter Manor. He was use to having only a cupboard or small second bedroom to call his own. And that only on sufferance.

His first impulse was to immediately offer his family's place, but he stopped himself. He needed to look at the issue from all angles.

The problem Hogwarts had was that it was simply too big to guard. Too many students had divided or dark loyalties. There were too many secret or obvious ways in and out. Conversations by floo and owl just added to the problem.

Still, perhaps Hermione's idea about loyalty and _imperius_ clocks would help.

Harry rose to his feet, rocking back and forth once before clamping down on the nervous movement. "I'd like to offer the services of Potter Manor to Hogwarts, at least in a limited manner."

"Potter Manor?" First confusion and then recognition flitted across her face. She glanced briefly into the darkness surrounding the campfire, as if searching for signs of the manor itself. "Perhaps you would care to explain, Mr. Potter?"

Years of obeying that arch tone caused his words to nearly stumble into one another in his haste to get them out. He described his adventure in Gringotts and then his idea of recruiting house elves to gather food.

While McGonagall's expression remained stern, the slight twinkle in her eyes upon hearing the outwitting of the Minister encouraged Harry to be more bold than he might otherwise have been.

"Potter Manor will need to serve partially as a refuge for loyal Hogwarts students," he concluded. "But it can also serve as the new headquarters for the Order. Dumbledore gave us a task," Harry gestured toward Ron and Hermione.

McGonagall's sharp intake of breath let Harry know that Dumbledore had indeed not shared his task to find the horcruxes with his second in command. Strange. Why keep such important information from someone he knew Dumbledore trusted implicitly? Harry absently toyed with his wand as he wondered this, and an image flashed into his mind.

_Albus Dumbledore, very much alive, gazed down at his blackened hand. His other hand stroked Fawkes's crest feathers while he murmured, "She may need to oversee the school after Voldemort takes over the ministry. For her to know any more will put her in increasingly grave danger. As wise as that might be, I simply can't do it."_

Harry's eyes refocused on the fire and he shook his head to rid it of the fanciful daydream. Still, it made sense. Hadn't Dumbledore told him that he'd loved him so much he hadn't wanted to place the burden of the prophecy on Harry?

Another picture of a younger Dumbledore began to form behind his eyelids, but Harry pushed the image away, determined to focus on the proceedings. He knew better than to let his mind wander around this teacher, whether they were at Hogwarts or not.

"Mission?" Molly's voice rose in pitch. "You're children! Not even members of the Order! What – "

Arthur placed a calming hand on his wife's arm. "I think we can trust Albus on this, dear. But no more must be spoken of this till we secure the manor." Arthur's eyes briefly searched the darkness behind the fire-lit clearing. Blackness gazed back, dark and ominous as Harry considered who – or what – could be observing them beyond the small ring of light.

Ginny shivered and moved closer to the fire. Fred and George, on either side of her, scooted closer in an unspoken expression of solidarity. A tiny smile graced Ginny's lips before another shiver ran through her slender frame.

Ever observant, Ollivander said, "Yes, we've spent long enough in this area. One more thing. Harry – you said there were limits on the assistance Hogwarts will receive. Minerva must know what those are if she is to spend tomorrow most effectively."

"Er." Harry cleared his throat. He'd been expecting more time. "Generally speaking, we need to make the manor secure. No one or thing that is dark will be allowed in. Any exceptions will be made by me. " Harry paused, gathering his thoughts. "Hermione has an idea about creating a loyalty and an _imperius_ clock, similar to the Weasley's clock." Harry nodded at Molly and Arthur.

"I'd say we can take in the professors, house elves, and thirteen muggleborn students to begin with. But – " Harry didn't know how the headmistress would take this. "No portraits."

Shock crossed every adult's face. In contrast, each student nodded. They understood.

Harry smiled apologetically. "I have a feeling it's too easy to spy through those portraits."

"I see, Mr. Potter." McGonagall said.

Harry waited for a blistering rebuttal of his criteria, but none came.

His teacher sat thinking for a few moments before saying, "What you ask is both generous and very reasonable. I thank you on behalf of both the staff and the students still at Hogwarts." She pursed her lips before continuing. "Perhaps you might consider allowing Albus's picture into the manor? As the only one of its kind as of yet, I believe we can ensure that no spying is possible through him."

Harry felt a surge of relief pass through him. To be able to talk to his mentor, to be able to ask him about his new wand!

"Excellent," he said in response. Harry's wide grin was infectious, and everyone seemed cheered at the prospect of having a bit of Professor Dumbledore.

Minerva slowly rose to her feet looking every bit her age, and for a moment Harry pictured a large burden resting on her shoulders. She spoke, "I believe I have enough information for now. I'll take my leave of your kind hospitality."

Placing her hand on her sheathed wand, the headmistress apparated back to Hogwarts.

For once, Harry felt sorry for the house elves. He suspected even those happy workers would be exhausted after this night.

To be continued...


	14. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling

Harry blearily rubbed his gummy eyes while stretching in the soft, feather-down bed. While he loved flying last night, he couldn't erase the piercing screams from women and the wailing cries of children from his brain.

Things had worsened rapidly in the muggle world in just one day. His keen eyes had picked out roving bands of humans – refugees and mobs by the look of them. Out of control fires raged, once again filling the sky with smoky air. Harry had wrapped a cloaked arm around his face to muffle his coughs, but nothing could be done about his stinging eyes. At least his glasses protected them from the smoke somewhat.

A deep sorrow filled him as he thought of his conversation yesterday with Hermione's father. Ninety percent. That was the estimated mortality rate for an EMP if there was no outside aid. And there would be none, since only peasants would be unaffected by the world-wide bombing. Remote peasants who lived off the land generation after generation would survive as they scratched a living from the dirt. Provided they didn't get overrun by their distant cousins from the city.

Harry finally pulled his hand down and blinked. Covering his eyes wasn't going to change things. Yawning, he rolled out of bed, threw on the nearest set of clean clothes, and trudged out through the front door of the tent, oblivious to the spartan tent that was so unlike the twins.

Bright sunlight blinded him as he stepped out into a large clearing in the Peak District National forest. He could tell they were in Yorkshire. The small tugging that he'd first experienced after grasping the snitch in Gringotts had grown stronger. Now that he was nearer to his family home, he had another, more specific name floating around in his brain to run by John. Hopefully John would then get them close enough that Harry would know the way to go. Like a homing pigeon. He smiled ruefully.

The tents spaced widely in a circle around the fire reminded Harry of pioneer wagon trains in the States. Those wagons would circle in the same way for protection in the face of imminent danger.

Wood smoke wafted toward Harry, enveloping him. He quickly stepped sideways. Once clear of the smoke, the scent of pancakes filled the air.

His stomach rumbled loud enough for Ron, sitting on a stone several feet away, to hear.

Ron laughed. "Pull up a stone, these acorn pancakes are fantastic!" He shoveled a remarkable amount of food in his mouth before continuing. "Wild strawberries beat maple syrup hands down!"

Ginny blithely ignored her brother's table manners as Hermione winced and looked away. _Six years ought to have inured her to Ron's eating habits, _Harry thought with a smile.

As Harry sat down, he examined the remaining bits of Ron's pancakes. They looked normal aside from an orange tinge. "Don't acorns have something in them that's bad for you?" Harry asked. He remembered Petunia screeching at her precious Dudders to stop putting acorns in his mouth for that very reason.

"I've not keeled over yet." Ron shrugged and patted his stomach. The blissed-out look on his face told Harry that his friend was reliving his meal, bite by bite.

"Harry," Helen's quiet voice caught his attention. "You're right. It normally takes days, if not weeks or months, to soak the tannins out of acorns. Then they have to be dried and ground into flour."

"Normally?" Harry honed in on the pertinent word.

In response, Helen looked at Molly who was busy flipping pancakes with her wand. Each pancake twirled through the air one, two, then three times. As Harry watched, Molly flicked her wand, adding a twist to the flipping pancake. The content light in her eyes gave Harry the answer he needed. Culinary magic. No witch surpassed Molly in the kitchen; what an excellent survival skill.

Harry quickly served himself some of the remaining pancakes. With Fred and George eyeing them like a shark scouting its hapless prey, he knew his time to get breakfast was measured in seconds.

Ron was right. The slightly nutty flavor of the pancakes combined with the rich, sweet taste of wild strawberries created a divine breakfast.

"What are the plans for today?" Harry said, carefully making sure he swallowed first.

"Same as yesterday," Ginny answered clearly despite the mouthful of eggs she'd just shoveled in. He'd never understand how girls could manage that.

Things weren't exactly the same as yesterday. He didn't bond with a powerful, new wand, after all. They collected the same plants as yesterday, with John adding to the mix fennel, wild chestnuts, chickweed, and rose hips.

Harry had found it particularly interesting to see Hermione dig up whole lambs quarter plants and transplant them into pots before depositing them in a large box in her never-ending bag.

He pointed out the suspicious resemblance between the pots and engorged acorn tops. Hermione had blushed at that, but she replied that survival required conserving all types of energy, including magical.

As much as Harry enjoyed teasing his friend, he finally asked why they were transplanting lambs quarters.

Surprisingly enough, lambs quarter seed could be ground into flour, while the leaves could be eaten while small or stewed like cooked spinach once fully grown. He'd wrinkled his nose at that thought. Cooked spinach.

While Harry had been admiring the versatility of such an insignificant weed, John came up to Hermione with a snare in his hands. He was taking full advantage of the magic around him by getting Hermione to place powerful sticking charms on the snare.

"Meat for dinner?" Harry asked, his mouth watering. He could almost smell the sizzling fat as it dripped into the fireplace.

A smile creased John's face. "That depends on what we catch. I'd like to snare a breeding pair of rabbits." John's face sobered as he stared out at the forest. "In very little time the forest – no, all of Britain – will become nearly bare of even the smallest wildlife."

"But surely not many people know how to catch rabbits!" Harry protested, nodding at the snare dangling from John's hand.

"Desperation is an excellent teacher." John disagreed. "All but the most wily animals will be caught eventually."

The thought of this forest bare of all life – no chirping in the trees, no soft scurrying feet running through the leaves, saddened Harry for a moment. But he couldn't blame those people who were already so desperate to survive. He furrowed his brow in concentration. "Shouldn't we snare more breeding pairs, then? And not just rabbits?"

"What would you suggest?" John's face was noncommittal as he asked the question, and Harry felt like he was back in school without having done his homework.

_Too bad we never had Survival 101_, he told himself. _Now that would have been far more useful._ Quickly, Harry racked his memory for useful small game. "Quail? Squirrels? Pigeons?" He finally asked.

Amusement brightened John's eyes before he agreed. "All three of those make for good eating. But can you think of anything else?"

Something else? He'd been lucky to think of quail and pigeons to begin with. He only had experience with magical creatures and the squirrels that bothered his Aunt Petunia. She'd complained that their playing in the trees and on the roof would keep her up at night.

Harry cast a pleading look at Hermione.

"There might be wild turkeys or pigs," she said as she finished charming the last of the snares. "You'll be careful, Dad?"

John would have to go beyond the distant muggle repelling wards to set the snares. Their attempts at gathering food were sure to have frightened all the nearby game.

"Of course." John bent to kiss to top of Hermione's head before slipping silently into the shaded forest.

"Hermione?" Harry knew he was asking an obvious question, but they couldn't afford to have John lost. "Why is John going past the muggle repelling wards when he's a muggle himself?"

To his surprise, a quick laugh chirped out of Hermione's mouth. "Oh, Harry, you really should read _Hogwarts, A History. _They solved that problem centuries ago." Hermione pulled out another set of acorn pots as she left in search of more lambs quarter plants.

Harry shook his head, bemused. Of course Hogwarts would have solved that problem. How else would parents like Hermione's attend graduation? Perhaps he would find out exactly how when John came back. He had no doubt Hermione would tell him to look it up for himself if he asked again.

With a quiet sigh, Harry lifted his nearly full basket off the ground. If he tried thinking like a squirrel, he might be able to find more acorns. While fresh vegetables and fruits had their place, they certainly weren't filling.

Later that night Harry gazed in satisfaction at the pile of food they'd gathered – enough to last their group for several days. His lower back ached as he remembered the many hours he'd spent crouching on the ground. If he'd ever had the desire to be a hunter-gatherer, today had thoroughly squelched it.

Molly began efficiently packing the day's catch – casting both cooling and preserving charms as she did so. Once finished, she brushed her hands together and looked around. "All done, then?"

"Yes, Mrs. Weasley." Harry suspected she'd left the food till last as a sort of monument to the day's work. Judging by everyone's stiff and slow movements, everyone ached in places they'd never felt before. "Just one more night, maybe two, and we'll be there."

"Excellent." Mrs. Weasley's smile was seasoned with a large dose of relief. "As much as I love watching quidditch, I prefer to have my feet firmly on the ground.

"You, too!" Harry was astonished. Hermione felt that way, but Mrs. Weasley had never let on. She was always cheering her children's flying on.

Molly heard the astonishment in his tone. "Ah, Harry. Although it may seem to you that wizarding society never changes, it's been only recently that girls have been encouraged to fly. Despite muggle tales about witches flying."

Molly's eyes watched her daughter as she prepared for the night flight, confidence, excitement, and experience evident in Ginny's quick, economical motions. Pride flashed across Molly's face before she continued. "Albus opened quidditch to women after he became headmaster – it was such the scandal at the time! But Albus was adamant." Fond memories softened the lines of her face.

"But the Harpies – hasn't that quidditch team been around forever?" He asked.

"Oh, no!" Molly laughed. "The Harpies were organized as soon as witches who played quidditch graduated from Hogwarts, although I suspect some of the older members had been practicing on the sly. The very name of their team was a warning to the all-male teams, you see."

"It's a good thing everyone here can fly. I'm sure that would have been one class Hermione would have skipped if she could have." Harry said quietly, wondering if Albus had up-ended centuries of tradition because he could see a time when witches would need to fly as well as wizards.

The future. There were so many possibilities, so many things that could go wrong tonight. Harry softly brushed his hand against his as-yet unused wand. A fleeting, birds-eye view of the forest and it's surroundings filled his mind's eye. For a moment he could once again smell the smoke from the raging fires dotting the landscape. And briefly, ever so briefly, he heard the sound of a gunshot as a small, black-cloaked figure fell from a fast-moving broom.

To Be Continued...

A/N IMPORTANT: The next update will be the prologue, so don't go to the end of the story, read the first chapter/section. The prologue is a direct result of Thomas_berubeg. Thanks! I realized from him that some of the readers might appreciate knowing sooner rather than later how Iran managed to EMP the whole world back in the late 1990s. A hint: it has to do with magic ;)

Also, I couldn't update last Saturday due to bugs in the system, but I've discovered a work-around just in time for today's posting. Hopefully it will last!


	15. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

Shock cleared Harry's vision. Yes, there were many possibilities for the future, but surely that was his imagination! What were the chances someone would even see their faint shadows in the moonlit sky, let alone shoot at them?

Still, he would never forgive himself if it actually happened.

A quick word with Arthur yielded the information that there was a shield charm designed to be applied to a broom for the length of a broom flight.

Apparently quidditch had gone through a period where the fans would throw rocks, by hand or magically, at the opposing teams. But that trend quickly ended when they created charms to filter all non-quidditch items from hitting a small sphere around the broom.

For whatever reason the obscure charm had been invented, Harry was grateful. Feeling faintly like the paranoid Mad-eyed Moody, Harry cast his first spell with his new wand.

Warmth rushed up his wand arm before simultaneously branching to engulf his heart and mind. For a brief moment that stretched out for an eternity, Harry felt bathed in peace, happiness and light.

A small corner of his mind wondered if bonding with the original Deathly Hallows wand had felt as marvelous. _Probably not_, he decided. By all accounts, the eldest brother had been an unpleasant, ambitious fellow. Perhaps that original bonding had enveloped the eldest Peverell in a euphoric sense of power. That would surely account for how quickly the bloke had managed to kill himself.

Blinking, Harry came back to himself as he felt the last of that wonderful warmth and peace trickle out his fingertips. He'd have to watch that; he couldn't become oblivious to his surroundings during a battle. Glancing down at his broom, Harry noticed with astonishment the new look he'd given it. Dark and light green patches blended together into a homogenous mottled blur in the moonlight. Camouflage.

Not only that – Harry stretched out a tentative finger till his hand met metal instead of wood. Strange. He hefted up his metal-coated broom, tossing it into the air before catching it again. As the broom flew over his head, the camouflage changed from green to a black mixed with dark blue. Harry shrugged his shoulders. _Magic_.

"Harry?" Ginny's voice interrupted his thoughts. "That spell isn't suppose to change the look of your broom, as least not until something hits it."

"Oh." Harry felt heat rush to his face. Thankfully, no one could see it in the dim moonlight. The last thing he needed was something making him different from everyone else. Again. "I'll just fix it, then."

Harry raised his arm to perform the _finite incantatem_ spell, "Finite - " he managed to get out before Ollivander interrupted.

"No, my boy. This is an excellent opportunity to study how you did that spell. Perhaps there will be other, more beneficial improvements." Ollivander's tone conveyed what a meaningful look in the dark couldn't: Harry's new wand needed much more study. It would have been just his luck if his hasty _finite incantatem _spell had reversed all spells on his broom. He had the feeling Ollivander wouldn't be leaving his side anytime soon.

Harry nodded his acknowledgment with a murmured agreement. Silently, though, he resolved to spend as much time as needed practicing alone till he mastered this wand. The last thing he wanted was to turn heads each time he cast a spell. His best guess was that this time, his wand somehow read his intention and changed the spell accordingly.

One by one, their group mounted their brooms and flew north-east toward the North Yorkshire moors. From there he hoped to lead his friends to the Potter Manor. A little niggling thought in the back of his head kept quietly reminding him that the magic guiding him might have faded over the years to the point where Harry wouldn't be able to find his family's place. He could picture them wandering in the woods, clothes becoming more tattered by the day as their food ran out.

The clear, cool breeze revitalized Harry. A smile stretched across his face. Maybe he couldn't find Potter Manor, but he was going to enjoy the smoke-free air while it lasted.

As the forest below began to thin, he searched the landscape below, looking for a match to the mental image he'd seen earlier. Even if the charm on their brooms worked, he wasn't going to chance loosing Ginny or Hermione. His stomach roiled at the thought and his fingers tightened around his broom handle.

By the light of the increasingly frequent fires, Harry spotted several disturbing trends. Instead of figures gathered together putting fires out, he caught fleeting glimpses of scurrying figures. He was reminded of mice carefully slipping from cover to cover in an open field, trying to outwit the predator hawk circling above.

Here and there, where the fires were largest and most numerous, large groups of people gathered together. Refugees or mobs? No way to know, and Harry didn't intent to drop down close enough to find out.

Perhaps because his eyes were attuned to the gleaming metal of the golden snitch, he spotted flickering firelight reflecting off long pieces of metal in the hands of many of the people below. Guns.

No, Harry had no intention of flying closer, although a part of him ached with sympathy for the many people lost in their circumstances below. He feared that the nice people – the good people – would be the first to die in the violence below. What would that mean for the future of those who survived?

About halfway through their flight, Harry tensed as the picture below him finally matched the vision he'd seen earlier that evening. He took a deep breath to shout a warning, but the deep boom of a rifle interrupted him, and he let out a yelp of surprise as his broom abruptly shot up in the air. A bright blue translucent curved shield snapped into place underneath him, stretching nearly a half mile in diameter.

A small dark figure ahead of him – Ginny – turned around on her broom. "What - " she called back, the wind whipping the rest of the words away from Harry.

Clenching the broom between his legs for balance, he raised both of his hands, palms upward, to signal that he didn't know what was going on.

And he didn't. But he knew without a doubt that Ginny would have died tonight without that shield. How he saw that image in his head before it happened, he didn't know. The evidence pointed toward his new wand, since these images began after he bonded with it. Especially since he'd showed absolutely no talent for divination in school, as demonstrated by the number of times he'd predicted his own gruesome death. It was a good thing he didn't have this wand when he was in Trelawny's class. For all he knew about it, it could make even those fraudulent predictions come true.

He had to have a chat with Ollivander tomorrow.

* * *

A strong tugging inside his chest pulled Harry out of a fitful sleep. Bleary-eyed, Harry glanced around, looking for the rope pulling on him. Bland walls greeted him with no ropes to be found. Perhaps he was dreaming? Shaking his head to clear the cobwebs, he headed out of the tent in search of Arthur. Following the tugging in his chest may not be the most practical course without advice. And backup.

"Hmmm," was all Arthur said as he explained his problem.

That was hardly helpful, Harry thought, increasingly grumpy about his interrupted sleep. "Do you think I'm being guided in to Potter Manor?"

"It's possible," Arthur said, his forehead creasing as his eyebrows drew together. "But it also could be some attempt by the ministry to bring you back."

"How could they do something like that?" Harry protested, the idea that the ministry could influence him from hundreds of miles away sitting in his stomach like a block of lead.

"There are many mysteries being researched in the Department of Mysteries." Arthur said vaguely, his eyes looking off into the distance.

For a moment, Harry felt like he was back in fifth year with Dumbledore refusing to meet his gaze. Sorrow mingled with frustration at the memory, sharpening his voice a touch more than he meant. "But if they have something like this, why not use it on Voldemort? He might turn himself in out of sheer pique!" He rubbed at his chest. The tugging wasn't growing stronger, but it wasn't getting better, either.

Humor lit Arthur's eyes as he laughed. "Perhaps Fred and George could bottle it in one of their potions. A new super weapon." His face sobered as he continued. "The pertinent question is – what direction is the tugging coming from?"

Silently, Harry pointed towards a particularly large oak tree nearby. Although he knew the oak tree had nothing to do with his latest problem, an irrational bubble of resentment toward it refused to be squashed.

"North-east. According to John's map, we're about 40 kilometers from the coast in that direction." Arthur said after consulting his compass. The compass had been a gift from John to each member of their group. Arthur had taken to his with delight, testing out his new muggle contraption with enough vigor to get nearly any wizard lost. Thankfully, Fred and George had accompanied Arthur on his excursions.

Harry rubbed his chest again. "We could mount an exploration party to find where this is leading me." Harry was willing to bet this tugging feeling would rival Chinese water torture. Tug, tug, tug instead of drip, drip, drip. "This damp fog should keep us shielded from any prying eyes."

Arthur looked around the clearing. Visibility was indeed poor – barely five yards in their clearing. Nodding, he made his decision. "Fred, George and I will fly with you. We'll go low and slow. The ministry won't be expecting that if they are behind this."

Harry nodded and dashed back to the tent. He had a few supplies to gather for this trip. Several minutes later, he slipped beside Arthur, Firebolt in hand, creepy bottomless bag in the other, while trying hard to soften his heavy breathing.

"What did you bring your pretty bag for?" George asked Harry, raising an eyebrow.

"Supplies, of course." He pulled his invisibility cloak out of the top of his bag. Why anyone would think a bag identical to Hermione's evil slurping bag was pretty, he didn't know. This was George asking, though.

"Ready?" Arthur asked.

In reply, Harry kicked off, soaring into the fog rather too quickly. Slowly bleeding off speed, he glanced behind him. Fred and George hovered just behind and to each side of him, while Arthur hung back directly behind Harry. He couldn't see Arthur's expression, but Fred and George both held their wands loosely in their hands. The identical determined set to their jaws would have had Harry pitying the poor bludgers if this had been quidditch.

Facing forward, Harry accelerated slowly. It wouldn't do to lose Arthur in the fog. The ride soon took on a dream-like quality. The damp fog seeped through his cloak before insinuating itself into his dark jeans and t-shirt. The absence of trees beneath his feet told him that the forest had turned into farmland. The occasional babble of voices and the clang of cooking ware suggested the passage of villages, but the shapes below were so blurred by the fog as to make identifying them impossible.

The tugging in his chest gradually changed to throbbing before morphing into an actual, physical pulling sensation. Reducing his broom's acceleration did nothing to slow his increasing speed. Or perhaps his body was actually pulling the broom along, as if an invisible tractor beam held him in its sway.

Not important, Harry reminded himself as his heart rose into his throat. All that mattered right now was what was at the end of ride. He gripped his new wand tightly in one hand while rummaging in the bag for his old wand. If Voldemort showed up to greet him, Harry might be able to create the _priori incantatem_ effect between the brother wands.

"What's going on?" George had seen Harry's frantic search for his wand.

"This broom is flying itself!" Harry said between clenched teeth. "Or I'm pulling it along. Let Fred and Arthur know. Maybe you can create an ambush."

George's eyes hardened. "We brought a few surprises." He jerked his head at Fred and both twins drifted back to their father.

Harry racked his brain for ideas. He had the invisibility cloak, but then the Weasleys wouldn't be able to follow him either. Minutes crawled by with the pace of a tortoise. Sweat trickled down Harry's neck despite the cool fog that continued to thicken as he neared the ocean. _This would be just my luck,_ he thought. Whatever was pulling him was going to drown him in the ocean. Anticlimactic for Voldemort, but effective nonetheless.

The smell of the salty ocean filled the air as Harry slowed. He turned his head quickly and could barely make out the stocky shapes of the Weasleys. Excellent. Harry whipped his invisibility cloak out and around him, taking care to put it on backwards with the hood half on. He'd never experimented with this, but he hoped the back of his head would still be visible. Tucking his legs up under his body, he quickly checked that his broom was fully covered by the cloak.

Harry breathed deeply and wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers. The rushing sound of the ocean echoed in his ears as his broom abruptly stopped near the edge of a cliff. He heaved a sigh of relief, grateful to have avoided death by drowning. For now, anyway.

To be continued...


	16. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

Harry froze. The ground was the obvious place for an ambush, but the fog around him would hide enemies just as well.

Hardly moving, Harry completely covered himself with the invisibility cloak before swiveling his head around as much like Hedwig as he could manage. Nothing. He could hear no sound beside the ocean waves breaking on the beach. Carefully, Harry moved close to the ground, centimeter by centimeter. Directly beneath him sat a large boulder surrounded by green wild grasses near the edge of a cliff leading down to a narrow, rocky strip of beach. No one was in sight.

Still, when magic was involved, sight could hardly be relied upon. Eyes narrowing in thought, Harry put away his old wand, double checking to ensure that he had indeed put the right one away. The last thing he needed was to bring the ministry down on his head.

What he needed was a stupefy charm that he could spread in a swath over a wide area, much like a machine gun, but not as lethal. If his foes fell into the ocean, he could hardly be blamed. He smiled grimly to himself. Ollivander had said that he had better access to the underpinnings of magic through his new wand. Just yesterday he'd seen mental images of what he needed to know as he was touching his wand. Perhaps-

"_Stupefy," _He whispered. Harry focused his entire mind on the spell, using all of the mental concentration he'd never applied to occlumency fifth year. Red light sprang out of his wand in sheets of light and he swung his arm in a wide arc as he whipped his broom in a tight, spiraling circle around boulder. When he finished, shock briefly filled his mind at his success and he extinguished the continuous spell and landed on the ground next to the boulder.

Silence reigned for a moment before the whistle of the Weasleys' brooms filled the air.

"Blimey, Harry!" Fred said as he settled lightly on the ground and dismounted.

"You don't need us - " said George, coming up next to his brother.

"You're a regular super hero!" said Fred.

Both twins put an arm around Harry – tightly – before saying in unison, "You must teach us, O Master!"

"I'm sure you'll get the details out of him later." Arthur's eyes were wide and his face a trifle pale as he approached. "We didn't hear any thumps of falling bodies, and there are no body-shaped impressions in the grass.

Once again Harry was impressed with Arthur's situational awareness and reflexes. Judging by the slightly crestfallen looks on the twins faces, neither of them had considered listening or looking for bodies like their father.

"Excellent." Harry said. Tiredness swept over him as his adrenaline levels plummeted, and his limbs felt like they were filled with lead instead of blood. Perhaps that _stupefy_ spell wasn't such a good idea. He looked around, trying to find something to distract himself from the overwhelming desire to lay down in the long grass and sleep.

Harry looked around him again, just to make sure his tired eyes hadn't missed anything. "There's nothing here, not even a shack." Despair shoved the exhaustion away. He had indeed led everyone on a wild goose chase. He started to lean back against the boulder for support, but his back met nothing but air as he fell.

Thwack!

Harry wanted to groan, but he couldn't as he desperately tried to suck air into his lungs. Dudley and his gang had enjoyed knocking the wind out of him when they could catch him, so he knew he hadn't been hit by a new spell. But what a wizarding weapon that would be! He made a mental note to mention it to Hermione. Hordes of death eaters gasping on the ground, fearful for their lives brought a smile to his face.

With a new reason to rub his chest now that the tugging sensation he woke up to was gone, Harry sat up and took in his surroundings. He'd fallen a bit over a meter onto hard dirt floor. His unceremonious fall had kicked up enough dust to tickle the back of his throat as he breathed. In the center of the dirt floor sat a granite trap door. His eyes widened as he imagined the weight of that thing.

Two conflicting impulses tore through Harry. His fingers itched to pull up the burnished brass handle, but the Weasleys would be frantic at this point. Sighing, he mounted his broom and slowly rose off the recessed floor, careful to avoid hitting the ceiling of the boulder. Now that he looked overhead, a trickle of claustrophobia ran down his spine. He was in a round igloo composed of the same sandstone as the illusory boulder. Since the room looked approximately as big as that boulder, the walls and ceiling couldn't be more than an inch or two thick. He glanced up again. It would be just his luck to have the Weasley twins try to land on top of the boulder. Structurally, the ceiling and walls couldn't be secure.

Harry reminded himself that magic was obviously involved. The Burrow managed to remain standing, after all, so this ought to as well. Even if it had been abandoned since he was born.

His hand reached through the sandstone as if it wasn't there, which it probably wasn't, Harry reminded himself. Breathing deeply, Harry stuck his head through the wall only to find a wand leveled at him. He froze, head half emerged from the wall. His eyes identified the freckled hand clenching the wand as belonging to a Weasley. Shoulders slumping with relief, Harry said, "It's just me, mate."

"You're looking a little strange with that boulder attached to your head, Harry," said George.

Fred pulled his wand back, allowing Harry to rid himself of the disconcerting feeling of being stuck in a wall. _It's all in your head, Harry, _he told himself. Hogwarts had plenty of doorways that looked like walls. No need to flip out over this one.

Glancing around at the troubled faces of Arthur, Fred, and George, Harry began to wonder about their apprehension. "Is everything all right?"

"Besides you dropping into a solid rock? Everything's just dandy." White lines around Fred's mouth belied his statement.

Turning his head, Harry looked more closely at George, noticing identical white lines around his mouth. Georges eyes darted around, searching for an enemy.

Arthur scratched the back of his neck as if it itched. "Perhaps we'd better get out of the open. We're visible for miles around."

The twins nodded in agreement.

Harry did a double take. "Mr. Weasley! We're fogged in. No one could hope to see us five yards away, let alone for miles!" _What was going on?_ He wondered. "Shouldn't we explore the boulder first? You haven't even asked what's inside."

"The boulder?" Arthur's eyebrow's drew together in confusion.

"The one I just fell into," Harry prompted, confusion coloring his own thoughts.

The twins edged away from each other, mounted their brooms and hovered, preparing to fly in different directions.

Images of begging forgiveness from Molly for losing her husband and two sons danced in front of Harry's eyes. They were clearly under a befuddlement charm that grew stronger, judging by the now dazed look on their faces.

Tensing his muscles, Harry grabbed for Fred and George's arm, using all the speed he'd developed playing seeker. As his hands closed around their arms, he jerked back, pushing off with his legs in the hope they wouldn't all run into solid rock this time.

Oomph! Harry, Fred and George tumbled down in a tangle of limbs inside the boulder.

"Oi..." One of the twins groaned.

Harry ignored him and grabbed the broom lying beside him. He did not envy anyone who took a tumble like that while astride a broom. Groans still echoing behind him, Harry shot out through the illusory wall, peering through the fog for a glimpse of Arthur.

Off to his right, a figure stood stock still. Harry approached cautiously.

"Arthur?" Harry murmured. It wasn't like him to stand still when his sons had disappeared.

No sound came out of Arthur. His lips were compressed into a fine line, his hands clenched at his sides. Harry had been wrong. Arthur was not standing stock still. Small tremors shook him from head to foot, his eyes first darting toward the boulder and then away, as if he was torn between fleeing and following his sons.

The tremors increased in intensity as Harry approached, and a fleeting appreciation for Arthur's strength flashed through his mind. He had no doubt the twins would have flown off by now.

"Arthur, I'm going to take you to Fred and George." Harry spoke softly, as he would to an injured animal.

He appeared to nod, although it was difficult to tell what was tremor and what was intentional.

Harry backed up the broom a few yards before accelerating and grabbing Arthur by the back of his shirt. He was forcibly reminded of the few American western movies he'd seen. If this were a movie, he'd whip Arthur up behind him and they'd ride off into the sunset. Harry had just enough time to smile at that image before he dragged Arthur into the boulder.

Arthur thudded to the ground and rolled to a stop next to the trap door. He sat up gingerly and shook his head, looking like a man who'd just had ice cold water thrown into his face.

"All right now?" Harry asked, closely examining Arthur and the twins for signs of confusion or befuddlement.

"You should have been a beater, Harry!" groaned Fred, rubbing his backside.

"None of that pansy seeker stuff for you," agreed George as he shook off his fall.

Harry tried to force down the flush he knew was trying to spread across his face, unsuccessfully, judging by the smile on George's face.

"That's not an experience I want to repeat again," said Arthur simply, taking in his surroundings. "I reckon that's a variant of what muggles experience when they run into a muggle-repelling ward." Arthur studied the trap door before continuing. "Harry, place your hand on that handle. Don't pull it, though," He cautioned.

It was Harry's turn to furrow his brow in confusion. Perhaps the wards had addled Arthur's brains. His eyes, gazing steadily into Harry's, looked clear. Harry nodded and reached his hand out, all the while imagining what could go wrong at this point. Booby traps, death by electrocution, the sudden appearance of a guardian dragon. He snorted to himself. He probably didn't have to fear death by electrocution, since that was a muggle method of torture. Wizards surely wouldn't stoop so low, even if they understood "ekkeltricity."

He wrapped his hand around the smooth cold metal, senses straining to identify any changes around him. His hand tensed as an elegant coat of arms appeared in the granite before him. A knight's helmet faced left, surrounded by intricately entwined dragons with a carved gryffin flying overhead.

"The Potter family crest!" breathed Arthur, relief coloring his voice.

Harry rocked back on his feet. His family's place. He hadn't let himself believe it might be true. Yes, he'd been searching for it, but only as a refuge from the coming storm. What might be in there? Portraits, house elves, journals, photo albums... So much more than he had now, but still so little compared to what his friends had. He looked at the twins and Arthur out of the corner of his eye. No, a house wouldn't bring back his family, no matter how grand.

He paused for a moment longer, battling both elation and disappointment, before asking, "Shall I?" as he reached toward the handle once more.

No answer came from Arthur, and Harry cocked his head in question at him.

Arthur chewed his lip absently, deep in thought, before running a hand through his thinning hair. "Let's see if you can open the door, Harry, but then we'll fly back after that. We don't know how long the fog will last. I'll be more comfortable when we're all in this house and not out in the open."

Thinking ahead, that's what Harry had to learn to do. Maybe if he kept reminding himself of that, he'd actually learn to do it. Instead of answering, he nodded sharply and prepared to heft the heavy granite door up. The door lifted of its own accord at the slightest pressure from Harry, nearly overbalancing him and sending him sprawling into the dust. He caught himself, but barely.

Studiously ignoring the twins' laughter, he examined the speckled granite stairs descending into the darkness. Their smooth, worn surface stood as a testament to the parade of passing feet from years gone by, and Harry could picture for a moment generations of ancestors coming home to their families. A sharp lance of desire shot through Harry and he promised himself that one day, he'd have that too. Peace, happiness, and family.

"Can you close it?" Arthur asked.

Harry shook himself out of his thoughts. An understanding smile graced Arthur's face, for which Harry was grateful. Even the twins were unusually silent. Probably because they couldn't think of anything appropriately solemn to say on such an occasion. He could just picture Molly shouting at the mirthful twins, "If you can't be serious, don't say anything at all!"

Smiling as he gently closed the trap door – the twins were always good for a laugh, even when they weren't doing anything. Within short order they flew back through the fog. Arthur had kept track of their course coming in – one more example of foresight that Harry determined to emulate.

Now that he didn't have the sharp tugging in his chest to distract him, Harry heard the sounds of discontent below. The occasional sharp report of a gun echoing across the landscape, a crying child, the shrill sound of a desperate mother begging for her child's life, a piercing scream of pain, the whimper of a dog cut off suddenly. Shivers swept through him that had nothing to do with the damp fog.

Although he flew twice as fast on the return trip, it seemed twice as long. Relief filled him as his feet touched the soft ground of the forest floor. Perhaps if he threw himself into gathering food, he'd be able to erase the echoing sound of desperate people whose only fault was to be born at the wrong time in history.

To be continued...


	17. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

* * *

From the end of the last chapter:

_Although Harry flew twice as fast on the return trip, it seemed twice as long. Relief filled him as his feet touched the soft ground of the forest floor. Perhaps if he threw himself into gathering food, he'd be able to erase the echoing sound of desperate people whose only fault was being born at the wrong time in history. _

* * *

Chapter 16

Harry sank his hands deep into the loose, loamy soil of the forest floor hours after discovering his family's home. Aunt Petunia would have had fits of envy over the quality of this soil if it had shown up in her neighbor's flower bed. She also would have turned her nose up into the air if she'd known that it had come from a dirty forest floor.

_Too bad for her_, he told himself silently.

John had half of the camp gathering dirt for gardening in the Potter manor. Upon hearing their brief report, he'd paced and muttered to himself silently before giving out orders. Since there were no greenhouses on top of the cliff– that would have greatly reduced the magical security of the place if wizards had noticed them – John surmised they would need to grow their food indoors. He was mightily hoping for some source of sunlight in the place. On that gamble, half of the camp was gathering dirt, while the other half gathered peat moss from the nearby bogs.

He lifted the rich brown soil and let it trickle through his fingers. John had set them many tasks in his desire to gather as much food, plants, and materials as possible. Hazelnut and hawthorne shrubs had been excellent finds along the edge of the forest. By squirming into the bushes, Harry had found a few handfuls of hazelnut burrs not eaten by birds and squirrels. Anything with fat and protein in it met John's approval. Harry couldn't blame him, since he didn't want to eat a diet of fruits and vegetables either.

He was just hoping that they wouldn't have to eat seaweed, but he feared his hope was doomed to disappointment. Not all of the vegetables they found were that appealing, either. They had found plentiful wild garlic in the area, but alder catkins were also numerous along the rivers and streams. Hermione had made a sour face at that find and hadn't seemed anxious to harvest them.

"Bitter, noxious things. I'd almost rather starve," she'd whispered with a furtive glance over her shoulder at her father..

Harry had snitched a bite and agreed with her. The bitter flavor coated his tongue and the back of his throat. He'd almost rather starve, too. Almost.

Food. All of their thoughts revolved around it. He pulled out his wand and stripped the forest floor of its topsoil before replacing the natural mulch he'd painstakingly separated earlier. He felt like a thief, stealing the lifeblood needed for survival from the trees and plants. Still, he wasn't willing to die, not while he had a prophecy hanging over his head.

Harry tied the soil bag closed tightly, wishing at the same time that he could work with soil for the rest of his life. That he didn't have to chase a mad man in an effort to keep him from killing all those he loved.

"Sad, isn't it?" came a soft voice behind him.

Harry whirled and then relaxed as he saw Ginny's bright red hair flickering in the dappled sunlight. In answer to her question, he nodded, not sure he could get words around the lump in his throat. Whether that lump was composed of anger, regret, or longing, he didn't know.

Ginny stepped slowly toward him, coming to rest at his side. "I suppose it's the age-old question," she continued. "Who – or what – will die so we can live?" She turned her head slightly to take in his reaction.

The silence stretched out as Harry continued to survey the once rich forest floor, interspersed only by brief bird calls and the rustle of leaves in a gentle breeze. "There's no good choice, " he said.

Ginny met his eyes briefly with a quizzical glance, clearly wondering if he was only talking about gathering soil from the forest floor. She touched his arm. "Harry, things are different now..." She trailed off.

Harry knew exactly what she was referring to, but he was tempted to pretend ignorance. Hurting Ginny was the last thing he wanted to do. "Yes, they are, " he agreed. "They're worse." _Now that's the understatement of the century_, he told himself.

"To put it mildly." Ginny wrinkled her nose at him, not happy with the terseness of his response.

"Ginny." Harry turned toward her, making sure she looked at him with her open chocolate brown eyes. "I've thought a lot about this myself. Plenty of thinking time up there." He waved his hand upwards with a lopsided smile.

She smiled back, if a little tremulously, and nodded for him to continue.

Harry admired her courage. She knew this wasn't going to be an easy conversation. "At Hogwarts, people dated for fun mostly."

She nodded again. "Although a few were more serious, like Neville and Hannah."

"Became more serious, " Harry corrected. "None of us are thinking about marriage starting out." Harry cringed inside. Did he just say the m-word to someone he might date again someday?

Color rose in Ginny's cheeks, but her voice was smooth and calm as she replied, "I'll give you that. I've had my fair share of fun relationships."

"I'm still not quite sure what you were thinking about that Michael chap," Harry smiled as he teased, trying to lighten the conversation.

"Fun, of course. He was very good at that." Ginny's eyes danced, leaving Harry to wonder just what kind of fun she'd gotten up to with Michael Corner.

"Fun." Harry sighed heavily. "I – _we _– can't afford the serious distraction caused by fun if we got together." He reached out and played briefly with a lock of her long hair. "Although there's no one I'd rather have fun with." His eyes softened as he dropped his hand back to his side.

"But, Harry! "Ginny protested. "All work and no play – that could be just as bad!"

Harry ran a hand through his hair, considering her words. "True." He agreed. "But you're far more riveting than any book or quidditch game."

Ginny blushed in earnest this time, though Harry suspected she was far more flattered by the comparison with quidditch than anything else.

"Seriously, Ginny. This next year our friends will be dying of starvation – _starvation _– if we don't do something about it. I know I could never forgive myself if I didn't remain focused. Who knows – maybe I'll say something that will spark Hermione's genius that I wouldn't otherwise."

Ginny and Harry grinned at each other.

"Hermione is the most brilliant witch of the age," Ginny agreed easily, before pausing in thought.

Harry watched the emotions play over her face. Loss, sadness, mixed with fleeting expressions of happiness, and then resolve.

"Since I am such a powerful distraction," Ginny's mouth twisted wryly at this statement, "I can see where you're coming from." She turned to face Harry with her hands on her hips. "You've got one year, Harry Potter! And you'd better come up with a blooming miracle between now and then."

"Not without your help," Harry called out as she strode away. "After all, you might be the one to spark Hermione's genius."

Ginny's laughter floated over her shoulder as she slipped into the trees.

As Harry watched her fade into the forest, he resolved to buckle down and work harder. Maybe they could produce that miracle in less than a year.

"What about my genius, Harry?" Hermione crunched into the clearing from the opposite direction, looking around for more soil to store.

Harry almost groaned. After that grueling conversation, he could use some time alone with his dirt. That thought nearly made him laugh aloud. Turning to dirt for therapy – he could have made millions off it in the muggle world.

With that humorous thought, he turned and answered Hermione's question.

Instead of laughing, though, her eye's grew troubled and her mouth turned down at the corners. She grabbed his arm and pulled him closer. "Harry, I don't know how we're going to feed ourselves, let alone our friends. Even with the house elves, there's only so much we can grow or gather before winter. With the professors and muggleborn students..."

The true gravity of the situation washed over him, and he finally understood the perpetually worried expression on John's face. The tightness around his eyes, even when he smiled, and the frequent pacing around the campfire at night.

Harry began pacing himself, old leaves and sticks crunching loudly under foot with no topsoil to soften the sound. "You know, Hermione, we passed vast stretches of farmland between here and Potter Manor. I couldn't see well through the fog – which has thankfully cleared – but the fields still looked green."

"Those crops can't survive till harvest, though. They're just seedlings, most of them." Hermione worried her bottom lip between her teeth. "Even if they don't wither or rot in the fields, muggles will be watching carefully over what survives." She paused, beginning to pace alongside Harry. "Of course, they could get torched instead. There are certainly enough fires for that to happen."

"There must be a way!" Harry said fiercely, clenching his fists. "If only Neville were here. With his green thumb, we might have a chance."

"Why can't we get him? And don't forget Madame Sprout." Hermione's tone turned speculative.

Harry's face first brightened at the mention of Neville before becoming blank at the mention of their herbology teacher.

Hermione's keen eyes took in the change. "Why not Madame Sprout, Harry?" She pounced.

"Er..." Harry felt taken aback. "There's nothing wrong with her. She's a good teacher. No nonsense and all that," he ventured tentatively.

"That's exactly what I'm talking about, Harry!"

"You've lost me, Hermione." Bewilderment colored Harry's tone.

Hermione's laughter echoed through the clearing like the pealing of silver bells. "Quite right, there." Hermione stopped still, forcing Harry to stop as well. "Your first thought was to rely on people your own age – not adults. When I suggested Madame Sprout, you were less than enthusiastic, even though she knows scads more than Neville."

Harry scratched the back of his neck. What Hermione said was true, but when had trusting adults ever helped them? He said just that to her.

All of the tension drained out of Hermione's shoulders, and she began walking again. Instead of following the curve of the clearing, she stepped into the forest with Harry following close behind her. "We're traveling to your house, are we not?"

Harry nodded, uncertain where she was headed with this train of thought.

"And in a month you'll have reached the age of majority in the wizarding world?

"Yes." Harry drew the word out slowly.

"Then why can't adults be friends that are just a few years older?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Just a few years?" Professor McGonagall's greying hair and stern lines merely emphasized her authority. Teacher, yes. Friend, no.

"Think about it Harry!" Urgency threaded through Hermione's voice as she saw the doubt play across his face. "Professor Dumbledore didn't want us to rely on the teachers. He was grooming us – you – to be completely self reliant. But we can't afford that divide in this situation. We don't just have Voldemort out there –" She waved her hand in a wide arc . "There are hordes of starving muggles and wizards!"

"Surely the magical world isn't starving yet!" Harry protested, seizing upon the argument as he would a life line.

"That's beside the point, Harry. They will be, and soon. The only question at this point is how many people will die. The more divided we are, the more people will die."

The quiet brutality of that statement shocked him. "I can't help – or save – everyone!" His stomach churned as acid backed up into his throat.

"No." Hermione agreed. "But we're in a position to soften the blow Harry – if we work together. Please think about it."

Without meeting her eyes, Harry agreed. Nodding her thanks, Hermione fell silent, leaving him to his thoughts.

A little niggling part of him wanted her to be spectacularly wrong, to fail, just so she knew how it felt. Petty, yes. Harry silenced that part of himself after a moment, since he knew perfectly well that he didn't rely on adults. _She's spot on as usual, _Harry thought. His feet continued to move him farther into the woods as his thoughts took him far away, back to Miss O'Cleary in his first year of primary school.

To Be Continued...

A/N What do you think about the little blurb from the last chapter? Did it help smooth the transition into this chapter, or did you find it distracting?


	18. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling

From the last chapter:

_A little niggling part of Harry wanted Hermione to be spectacularly wrong, to fail, just so she knew how it felt. Petty, yes. He silenced that part of himself after a moment, since he knew perfectly well that he didn't rely on adults. She's spot on as usual, Harry thought. His feet continued to move him farther into the woods as his thoughts took him far away, back to Miss O'Cleary in his first year of primary school. _

Chapter 17

Harry could still remember Miss O'Cleary's sharp-toed black shoes. He'd looked down at them on many occasions, the first being the Dursley's introduction of their wayward nephew. His aunt and uncle dashed Harry's barely formed hopes as they described their troublemaking nephew. Bad blood. Steals. Bullies. Lies.

Miss O'Cleary's dark obsidian eyes had appraised, judged, and sentenced the scrawny child in oversized rags to the top of the class hooligan list. Thereafter, any problem in the class was Harry's fault, even if he was in the loo when the mischief occurred. His classmates, delighted to have a scapegoat, were quick to point the finger of blame at Harry.

His first teacher hadn't been satisfied with making his first school year miserable. She'd been absolutely evangelical in preaching Harry's supposed sins to the other teachers at the school. He'd had no refuge from either the children or adults till he'd reached Hogwarts. And Hermione thought he should rely on adults!

Still, looking back at these memories, Harry was astonished that no teacher or adult in his neighborhood seemed to care that they vilified an obviously malnourished, ill-clothed child. Harry's eyebrows drew down with concentration. How had the Dursleys escaped censure for that? The hawk-like neighbors would surely have whispered about that where Petunia could hear, but no such thing seemed to have happened.

What a contrast he must have been with the perfectly kept lawn, house, and well-clothed and fed family. A suspicion began to grow in Harry's mind.

"Hermione," his voice seemed muffled by the lush undergrowth he'd hardly noticed before. "Would it be possible for someone to influence what other people see?"

Hermione started at his voice, but quickly recovered. "That depends on the situation. Most often those types of magics don't change what's actually there. Instead, they persuade the mind to see something different, or to see nothing at all. Such things work best on muggles. Why?"

Harry explained his hunch about Petunia and her obsessive desire to have a normal family. "We know she didn't have enough magic to enter Hogwarts. But what if she had enough to hoodwink other muggles?"

"It's certainly possible," Hermione said slowly, one hand idly twisting a loose curl.

Harry's stomach roiled and wrenched as if he'd swallowed one of Hagrid's giant pets as he considered the possibility. He could hardly blame muggles for allowing magic to trick them. All of the other children had loved Miss O'Cleary, and she'd generously bestowed kindness on them. Granted, that had twisted the knife in just that much harder, but perhaps she would have been equally kind to him if she'd been given the chance.

For a moment Harry could see how his childhood might have been without the interference of magic, and he knew deep down in his bones that Petunia must have magically influenced most, if not all, of the muggles she came into contact with.

Those hideous dinner parties for Vernon's bosses were a case in point. Each time Vernon heard rumbles of discontent at work about him, he'd hold a dinner party. Not only would his boss leave singing praises about his lovely wife and child, he'd shortly thereafter receive a promotion. He had no doubt that Vernon and his temper would have been thrown out of the drill business on his duff if Petunia hadn't intervened time and again.

Petunia and magic.

Harry laughed out loud, a deep belly laugh that rolled on and on, taking with it years of pain and distrust. He pulled off his glasses and wiped the corners of his eyes before placing them back on the bridge of his nose. Hermione's questioning face came into focus, and a small smile played about her lips.

He grinned again. "Can you just imagine Petunia if I explained how she's been keeping up her respectable appearance all these years? She might inflate and float away all on her own." He tried unsuccessfully to repress another chuckle and Hermione joined him with her tinkling laugh, eyes crinkling with delight.

"That would be only what she deserved," she agreed. Her smile disappeared. "Of course, she's probably getting what she deserves right now."

Harry pictured his Aunt Petunia, furtively looking around the corner of a once prosperous neighborhood, unconsciously using her magical talents to find food and shelter for her family. He suspected she wouldn't be able to hide men the size of mountains – flabby mountains at that– for long. Yes, circumstances would mete out what she deserved.

"I think I should be feeling bad about that," Harry mused as he pushed through the particularly dense undergrowth. Vines, shrubs, and low-lying branches pushed back. Harry finally managed to slide through, thorns scratching his arms. A small brook burbled its contentment in front of him, completely unaware of the vast changes mankind had made to its world.

"That explains the heavy undergrowth," Hermione observed.

"Hmm?" Harry asked as he focused on the thick trunks wending their slow way heavenward.

"The gap in the forest from the river - " Hermione stopped and stared. "These are dead ringers for Grandmother Willow in Pocahontas! Look at their gnarly limbs." She stepped to the nearest tree and lightly traced the raised ridges of bark.

"Grandmother Willow? What?" Hermione didn't often speak gibberish unless she talked about runes or arithmancy.

"The Disney movie that came out a few years ago..." She trailed off. "Which you wouldn't have seen."

He shook his head. He had heard of Disney, though. Dudley had thrown tantrums galore in second form demanding to go to Disneyland. _That must have been one of the few times he didn't get what he wanted,_ Harry thought. Happy memories. _Well, not very happy,_ he amended. Dudley had immediately turned around and blamed him, with the formulation of Harry-hunting as the end result.

"Chestnuts!" Hermione exclaimed, kneeling down at the base of one of the ancient trees. She scooped up a handful of the large, brown nuts. "We roast them at Christmas." The smile playing again about her lips hinted at happier times.

"So many!" Harry turned in a slow circle. Chestnut trees lined the small brook on both sides as far as he could see.

"That must be why the animals haven't taken them all." Hermione said, dropping chestnuts as quickly as possible into her carrying bag.

As Harry knelt to help her, he racked his brain for a better way. Even with everyone helping, they'd never harvest it all by nightfall.

"Can't we _accio_ the chestnuts?" He asked. That seemed so obvious he was surprised he hadn't thought of it before.

Hermione replied without thinking. "With your wand, if you _accio'd_ the chestnuts, you'd probably get all the chestnuts, ripe or not, in Britain. A bunch of flying chestnuts zeroing in on our location is not the best way to fly under the radar."

Warmth flooded Harry's face. He wasn't entirely sure he shouldn't drop his new wand down the nearest well.

"No, the _accio_ spell is limited only by the strength of the witch or wizard." Hermione worried her bottom lip, deep in thought. "Still, there must be a gathering spell somewhere. The magical folk couldn't always have lived off muggles. " _Like parasites_ hung between them without being said.

Harry's mouth twisted wryly. "I'm sure any such spell has long been buried in the annals of history. The ministry of magic couldn't possibly allow any hint of wizardkind's lowly beginning to exist."

Only the rustle of nuts entering the carrying bag broke the silence as they worked. _There has to be a better way_, Harry insisted to himself. They couldn't spend all their time painstakingly gathering food when they needed to fight a war instead. His stomach twisted in knots at the impossibility of doing both, even with the house elves' help. _Some Chosen One I've turned out to be._

Soft, slow footfalls mixed with the occasional sound of leaves brushing on clothing brought Harry out of his thoughts.

"Harry, your need brought me here." The low tones hardly carried over the gentle murmur of the brook.

Harry's heart raced as he struggled to identify the newcomer, hand on his wand.

Gradually his eyes found Ollivander who was still shrouded in the shade of the forest. He rubbed his eyes with one hand, but Ollivander's image still remained blurry, as if Harry was looking at him with out his glasses on

With a smile, the wandmaker stepped forward. "I'm impressed you found me, Harry, although I don't have the complete magical ability of a full dryad for concealment in a forest." He paused and took in their solemn faces. "Forgive me if I startled you. Part of my ability to vaguely sense the future includes an ability to know when and where I'm needed. I did not wish to stumble into a situation unprepared where you needed help from someone with nefarious purposes."

As Harry's heart rate slowed, he glanced at Hermione. Her eyes narrowed in concentration.

With a quick gesture at the chestnut trees around him, Harry said, "We're trying to figure out a more efficient way to gather these chestnuts. I can't imagine the need was so pressing it would have brought you out here."

Now it was Ollivander's turn to narrow his eyes in thought. "Don't underestimate the importance of small things, Harry."

"For the want of a nail..." Hermione murmured.

"Exactly." Ollivander smiled.

Harry looked back and forth between the two, confusion growing.

Hermione, noticing his perplexity, waved her hand. "Shakespeare." Turning back to Ollivander she said, "There must have once been a spell to gather local edibles. I've never heard a hint of it in modern spell books though..." She paused delicately.

Ollivander's smile grew wider. "Perhaps someone born a bit earlier might be able to help you out, eh?" He sat down on a moss covered rock near the stream, unmindful of staining his robes. "Wizards gathering their own food was ancient history even when I was born. But the prejudice against doing so wasn't quite as ingrained as it is today."

Harry's back ached dully and he paused to stretch the stiff muscles. He almost laughed then as he saw Ollivander assume the thinker's pose, chin resting heavily in one hand as he perched on his rock.

At that moment Ollivander's eyes brightened. "I may have what you need. I traveled extensively in Greece in my youth and stumbled across an ancient Minoan magical text. It had a brief footnote about a spell of sorts designed to allow humans to harmoniously gather from nature all that she could give." Ollivander's eyes moved back and forth like he was reading a book.

"Let me guess," Hermione asked, envy tinging her tone, "You also have a photographic memory."

"Only if it's written on a wood-based product," He said reassuringly. "Which has assuredly come in handy today."

Hermione drew a calming breath and nodded.

Harry could see her point. For someone who loved knowledge, the opportunity to both live an extended life as well as remember everything learned would be phenomenally envy inducing. Harry just wanted to eat and kill Voldemort, in that order.

"What's the spell, then?" he asked.

"It's not so much a spell as a ritual," Ollivander replied. "First we need to choose the most perfect chestnut we can. Then we thank whichever Deity we believe in, and ask for any additional chestnuts that can be spared."

"That's it? We pray?" Hermione seemed aghast.

"Not entirely, although I certainly wouldn't attempt this without the prayer first, as you will see." Ollivander said.

"Why is that?" Hermione's suspicions were aroused.

"You place your wand on the chestnut and open your magic entirely to the conduit created thusly between you and the nut."

Hermione's eyes grew round as saucers. Her mouth opened and closed without a sound.

Harry didn't understand the fuss.

"Perhaps we ought not to try it. " Hermione's voice trembled.

"No harm will come to you if your desires are pure." The wandmaker searched Harry's bag for an appropriate chestnut, discarding several small or irregularly shaped nuts.

"This is obviously something they didn't teach us about in Hogwarts, Hermione. I'm taking it that bad things could happen when you open a magical channel? Or conduit. Whatever." Harry shook his head in frustration. "Look, I'm willing to try it."

"We can't afford to have you burn your magical core out, Harry!" Hermione practically hissed as she clasped a surprisingly strong hand around his wand arm.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise and turned to Ollivander. "How would that happen?"

"This ritual was created in a time before spells became widespread. In essence, you are connecting the pool of magic within yourself to a vastly larger pool of magic outside yourself. This larger pool of magic favors light wizards over dark. If a wizard is deemed a threat to his fellow wizards or other living things around him, his internal pool of magic is removed."

"Oh, " was all Harry could think to say.

"You speak about magic as if it were sentient! How can it make judgments like that?" Hermione's taut voice betrayed her disbelief.

"It can't. But a group of wizards and witches gave magic a prime directive of sorts after a devastating magical war in what we would consider the dawn of time. Spells were created much later to get around the problem of possible magical burnout for those individuals who didn't dare try the judgement of the magic. Still, spells do limit the amount of damage one individual can do."

"If Voldemort is an example of how much limited damage an individual can do, I can hardly imagine that first primeval war." Harry said thoughtfully.

"Indeed, you cannot." Ollivander turned a piercing eye on him, his face turning gray at some long ago memory, as if the mere thought of it drained life from him. "Life was nearly wiped out on this planet – all but a few enclaves protected by the few light warriors that remained. The damage was so complete that all human remains from that time were incinerated. Muggle scientists attribute this massive species extinction to volcanoes or asteroid impacts." He shook his head.

Harry's head spun with this new information, and he wished that simply shaking his head would cause all the information swimming about to settle into a nice, orderly pattern. "Let me try, " he said instead.

"But Harry, do you even pray?" Hermione said, surprised.

"I do now," he said, jaw firming.

Ollivander handed a perfectly shaped, reddish brown nut to him. "The purpose of the prayer is to bring your brightest and best desires forward." He cautioned.

"Couldn't I just think happy thoughts instead?" Harry rolled the light nut around on his palm doubtfully.

Ollivander huffed. "If you want to spend hours meditating each time you try this, then by all means do so. I've personally haven't yet met a decent person that doesn't put their best foot forward when talking to their god, but that's your choice."

"Good point," Harry acknowledged _Did he really want to do this? Could he trust Ollivander?_ A small voice nagged at him. Harry shushed that small voice. They had to gather food and fight a war. A gamble was required. Or perhaps trust.

Harry placed the nut on a patch of emerald green moss and knelt to the ground. He bowed his head since he'd seen a show on the telly where people did that. Then he fervently prayed to any deity that was listening for help in both getting the food they needed – chestnuts in particular – and in fighting this war. For a moment, Harry pictured a life where families – both wizard and muggle – could pursue happiness in peace, and he wished for it desperately.

Slowly, he lowered his unpredictable wand to the chestnut and opened his magic to it.

To Be Continued...


	19. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

From the last chapter:

_Harry placed the nut on a patch of emerald green moss and knelt to the ground. He bowed his head since he'd seen a show on the telly where people did that. Then he fervently prayed to any deity that was listening for help in both getting the food they needed – chestnuts in particular – and in fighting this war. For a moment, Harry pictured a life where families – both wizard and muggle – could pursue happiness in peace, and he wished for it desperately. _

_Slowly, he lowered his unpredictable wand to the chestnut and opened his magic to it._

Chapter 18

Warmth again flooded back up Harry's arm and into his chest before branching out to the rest of his body. Peace and euphoria filled him, and he wondered if the ancient wizards hadn't simply wanted to keep this to themselves. How incredibly selfish of them - he could float in this feeling forever.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the peace and euphoria began to change, gaining a harder, sharper edge. Instead of floating in euphoria, he squirmed, trying to get away from the sense of uncomfortable scrutiny now accompanying the magic. He tried to pull back his wand, but it was cemented to the chestnut. He couldn't break the connection.

He vaguely heard the concern in Hermione's sharp intake of breath, but he couldn't see Ollivander put a restraining hand on her shoulder.

Between one breath and the next, all peace and euphoria vanished, leaving only scrutiny. Harry felt like a bug beneath a microscope, examined inside and out for his suitability. His suitability for what, he didn't know.

Every memory he'd ever had was carefully pulled from his head like a great, long ribbon pulled off a birthday present. He'd never felt so powerless or at the mercy of another being. Even occlumency with Snape hadn't been so intrusive. At least there he could fight back against the unjust and tyrannical man.

As if Harry's thoughts had been the trigger, the unknown, unmerciful judge seized upon his memories of Snape and examined them minutely. Harry watched impassively, somehow one step removed from the emotions of the memories. Wondering why magic, for lack of a better identifier, would be so interested in his former potions master, he watched his last memory of Snape unfold.

Dumbledore, pleading with Snape and then falling over the side of castle, a distant thud sounding from the ground below. His mad dash to catch Dumbledore's murderer, and then Snape's refusal to spar with him. They could have been in the defense classroom, Harry enduring another lesson from his professor.

Harry impassively observed Snape protect him from the other death eaters and then rise to the bait Harry's rage had carelessly thrown out. James Potter – directly or indirectly – still had enough sway over Snape to enrage him.

Yet, if Snape had been a stranger, Harry could have sworn that his rage was born in sorrow. The way Snape's mouth twisted, as if he was desperately trying to avoid reverting to the Snivellus of his teenage years.

Perhaps even more telling, though, was Buckbeak. Yes, the hippogriff had driven Snape off, but Snape was more than perfectly capable of stunning or killing the giant beast. And Buckbeak could clearly have caught up with the murderer before he reached Hogwart's gates. Harry had ridden the majestic animal and knew he could fly far faster than any man could run.

He turned these puzzles over in his mind as the foreign magic flowed back out of his wand, leaving only a lingering sense of approval.

Harry was surprised to find himself still kneeling, frozen into place. His muscles certainly felt liquid enough that he'd expected to find himself melted into a puddle on the ground. He gingerly pocketed his wand and felt wrung out as a well-used rag.

As fascinating as that experience had been, he never wanted to repeat it, euphoria or not. He was tired of being judged and held under a microscope for unknown forces to analyze. He looked up from under his fringe to apologize to Ollivander and Hermione. He'd never even thought to ask the magic for the chestnuts that could be spared. He'd failed.

Hermione's hand covered her mouth in astonishment, her eyes focused on something behind him, prompting Harry to whirl around. Piles of chestnuts as high as his chest surrounded his two companions. Harry felt his mouth drop open in identical shock.

"But – but –" He sputtered, and then swallowed. "I completely forgot about the chestnuts – I didn't even ask for them."

Ollivander smiled gently. "I take it the magic approved of you?"

Harry nodded, unsure of what to say or how to describe his other-worldly experience.

"And your thoughts, intentions, and motives were examined minutely?"

"My memories, too." The puzzle of Snape's unusual behavior continued to turn in Harry's mind, without quite the same level of rage and hate as before.

"Then your request was granted." Ollivander gestured to the massive piles.

Instead of feeling relief at the windfall, Harry felt troubled. He locked gazes with Hermione and saw that she reflected that same disquiet back at him. Not only had his understanding of magic been turned upside down, there was some ethereal being composed of other wizard's directives out there in control of magic itself.

Now that the chestnuts were gathered in piles, Hermione and Harry quickly had them into carrying sacks. Hermione celebrated by creating marching lines of nuts that looped around, through, and over each other before finally tucking themselves into their proper spots, a soft smile of contentment lighting her face.

The nuts filled up two bags – the equivalent of two small rooms. While he had no doubt everyone else would be delighted with the cache, he had no idea how they were going to explain it.

Harry hardly noticed the trip back to camp, although he stumbled over plenty of exposed, gnarly tree roots.

Ron waved a tired hand at the three as they returned to camp. Green slime stains and peat covered him from head to toe.

Harry sat down next to him. "Who'd you lose a fight with? The giant slug from the peat bog?"

"Ha, ha, very funny." Ron flicked a bit of slime at Harry.

Harry dodged. "Hey, you don't know where that's been!"

They both grinned at the absurdity.

Hermione smiled at their antics as she sat down. "We found whole roomfuls of chestnuts, enough to feed us for months."

Ron's eyes widened. "How..." he trailed off.

Harry glanced away. He didn't mind Ron knowing, but John and Helen sat conversing together quietly across the campfire.

Ollivander, who had been brushing the detritus of the forest of his clothes, intervened. "I remembered an old food gathering spell from my youth. Unfortunately, it's rather...unpredictable."

How true, but how deceptive.

John, it turned out, had been listening. "Did you know that whole cultures have survived on chestnuts?" He burst into the conversation as he stood up and strode around the fire, gesturing with excitement. "Not only chestnuts, of course, but that was their primary carbohydrate." He grinned and looked years younger.

"Can I use it to make bread?" Molly asked as she placed a pan full of raw eggs over the fire.

"The bread would crumble to pieces, unfortunately," Helen said mournfully. "There's no gluten in chestnuts, you see, as I can attest to from personal experience. But it will make flat bread and tortillas." She smiled encouragement at their resident chef.

Molly sniffed with disdain. "There's nothing like old-fashioned bread to keep a body going."

Despite Molly's dislike for the new nut, Harry enjoyed the smell of roasting chestnuts over the fire that evening. The occasional pop from the fire as Ginny and Ron competed to see which chestnut would open up first provided a peaceful background noise. This peace was far more real – and lasting - than the nameless, faceless peace he'd floated in earlier today.

* * *

Harry wrapped his cloak tightly about him as he prepared for the evening's flight. After pulling on his fingerless quidditch gloves, he turned and took in the rest of the expedition. The sound of rustling clothing floated through the clearing as each person silently mounted their broom, Hermione taking a moment to tap herself with her wand, whispering a word not audible to him.

Branches swayed gently in the breeze of their passage. Harry soon shivered and pulled his cloak tighter around his neck in a vain effort to prevent wind from dancing down his collar. The fog this morning had heralded unseasonably cool temperatures, the humid air from the nearby sea exacerbating the problem.

Hermione flew at his elbow, seemingly unbothered by the wind or cool weather. Ginny, just behind her, sat huddled on her broom, looking as miserable as he felt. Harry narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Hermione wasn't known for her ability to brave cold temperatures. After all, she'd been the one to master maintaining a blue bell flame in a glass jar first year. His suspicion blossomed into certainty. She must have found a way to combine the impervious spell with a warming charm.

He dropped back slightly to have words with his best friend for not sharing such an important development in personal comfort. The quidditch practices he suffered through during winter with not a peep from her!

As he opened his mouth to shout across the noisy divide, Hermione's laughing eyes stopped him. He paused and thought a moment.

"Let me guess, " he said in resignation. "It's in one of the school spell books, isn't it?"

Without Harry having to say another word in explanation, Hermione nodded and shouted back. "Second year's _Standard Book of Spells_, in the useful spells appendix. Professor McGonagall assigned it as extra reading before a quidditch game."

He groaned. How utterly cruel.

Hermione held up a finger to stop his protest before it even formed. "You chose not to do your homework, Harry. If I told you about every useful spell I came across in the teachers' assigned reading, you'd have done even less. And you know it."

Her eyes narrowed with her last sentence, as if daring him to contradict her.

He didn't dare. He straightened his spine instead and flew back to the point position, determined to suffer the cold before asking for help.

Unfortunately, flying while sitting straight was rather tiring, and as Harry crouched back down over his broom, his indignation drained away. She was right. Again. Wistful longing ran through him. How he wished he could go back to first year and redo the time he'd spent at Hogwarts! He'd make so many different choices, starting with actually learning his classwork. How would things be different if he'd used that time to prepare for his inevitable battle with Voldemort?

Instead, he was stuck with a repertoire of spells that would embarrass a third year in a duel. _Expelliarmus. Impedimenta. Reducto. Stupefy. _Nothing like the spells Dumbledore used in his duels against Voldemort at the ministry. But at least he could hit what he aimed at. Mostly. He winced as he remembered blowing his one chance to hit Snape – a stupefy that went astray before Snape began parrying his spells.

The sight of the slim moon's reflection off the sea pulled Harry out of his brooding. John had said they were heading for Kettleness, a small village nearby the cliff housing Potter manor.

Harry touched down lightly next to the boulder hiding the entrance to his family's house. A quick swipe through the insubstantial stone reassured Harry that he hadn't set off an alarm this morning designed to keep all intruders away from the entrance.

The rest of the weary traveling party hovered several hundred yards back, away from both the village and the cliff. Harry swiftly flew back and gave a thumbs up to indicate the go-ahead. He and Molly flew side by side, his hand on her arm to help prevent the wizard repelling spell from affecting her. Although she slowed down sooner than he'd expected, Harry managed to safely deposit her and Helen by the trap door inside the entranceway.

Although Harry felt exposed to unseen eyes, he escorted each person one by one. No shouts of alarm rang through the night. He heaved a sigh of relief as he let go of Arthur. He felt a strange reluctance to place his hand on the trap door once again, although they were packed like sardines in the entryway. So much hinged on his home being both a suitable refuge and staging point for operations. He'd feel horrible if it ended up being a dark, damp one room cave. The equivalent of a hut in the woods.

Squaring his shoulders, Harry again examined the gryffins and dragons wreathing the family crest before placing his hand on the cool, smooth handle and pulling.

The trap door opened noiselessly, for which he was grateful. Without the blanketing fog, Harry felt curiously vulnerable in the entrance. Gazing down into the darkness before him, he could picture his foot plummeting through a false stair, landing him with a solid whoompf in a dungeon where he'd starve to death. With that cheerful thought, Harry cautiously placed his weight on the first step.

To be continued...


	20. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling...

At the end of the last chapter...

_The trap door opened noiselessly, for which he was grateful. Without the blanketing fog, Harry felt curiously vulnerable in the entrance. Gazing down into the darkness before him, he could picture his foot plummeting through a false stair, landing him with a solid whoompf in a dungeon where he'd starve to death. With that cheerful thought, Harry cautiously placed his weight on the first step._

Chapter 19

_Bill will save me from the dungeon, _Harry reassured himself as he gazed down the entranceway stairs of Potter Manor. _After all, he used to break into Egyptian pyramids for a living._ Surely Molly would use her two-way portkey from Dumbledore to get Bill.

The first step held his weight, as did the second. He advanced down the staircase with increasing confidence, each footstep sending up a plume of thickly layered dust. The dust tickled his nose, and Harry rubbed it with the back of his hand.

He reached the last stair at the same time the light from above became too dim to see by. Shaking his head at his own foolishness, he pulled his wand out. "_Lumos." _

A blank rectangular entryway greeted him, graced only by an empty podium against the far wall next to a solidly built mahogany door. The podium in and of itself was a work of art, although Harry suspected it wasn't used for public speaking. No, the slender Roman column flowing into a stylized open scroll wouldn't have hid the shaking knees of any would-be demagogue.

Harry strode five paces through the narrow room, with Ginny, Ron, and Hermione close behind him before stopping in front of the next door for several seconds.

"I don't see anything special there, Harry. Just a grey stone wall." Ron reached out his hand and touched the door. "Cold, hard stone."

Harry raised an eyebrow at him, perplexed, but he quickly realized that they must be running into another of the manor's protections. It was going to be a long night if he had to escort everyone through each doorway.

He toyed with the idea of explaining his theory, but a mischievous streak inside him reared its head. The door opened the other way. If he grabbed Ron's arm fast enough -

"Oi!" Ron voice could have shattered crystal as the moment of impact with the illusory stone wall loomed. "What... Oh." Ron cleared his throat and brushed dust off his clothes to cover his embarrassment.

Harry heard laughter through the open door, the twins cheering him on. He clapped his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Don't worry. The twins did the same thing this morning."

Ron grinned. "Show me in a pensieve and we're square."

Harry grinned back and raised his voice to make it carry through the partially open door. "People would pay good money to hear them squeal like girls, wouldn't they?"

The twins laughter abruptly cut off.

After Harry escorted each person through the doorway – Ginny had threatened him with a bat bogey hex if he even thought about doing the same thing to her - he'd had the opportunity to look around him. The moving light from so many different wands cast strange, competing shadows against the tapestry-covered walls.

The room was large and composed of the same sandstone as the cliffs. Harry estimated that the room was a full fifteen yards in width and length, with one wall covered in windows facing the sea. At least he assumed they faced the sea. The light from inside turned the windows a forbidding black.

A chill crawled down his spine. "Can't anyone look in and see us? From the beach or the sea?"

Arthur took in the windows thoughtfully. "I can't imagine windows would have gone unnoticed by muggles – or wizards – for that matter." Arthur crossed his arms as he thought. "No. Either those are false windows, which would be a pity for growing our plants, or they look like part of the cliff from the outside."

"Like a one-way mirror?" John asked.

"A one-way what?" Eagerness lighted Arthur's face.

Apparently his love of all things muggle wasn't feigned, Harry noted. Just as Arthur opened his mouth to pepper John with questions, Harry intervened. "What I want to know is how are we going to get people in without me escorting them each time?"

Arthur closed his mouth regretfully. Harry could almost see him promising himself that he would corner John with his questions later.

"I'd expect we're looking for the guest register." Molly said.

"That's it?" Harry asked.

"It's magical, of course, dear. All the great and noble houses have one. The master of the house taps the book and says the name of whoever they want to allow access."

That didn't seem very secure, but Harry wasn't about to look a gift horse – or guest register – in the mouth.

Despite the late hour, they split up in twos, an adult and Hogwarts student paired with each other. Why George and Fred were considered old enough to explore on their own, Harry didn't know. Judging by the suspicious glint in Molly's eye as she raked the twins from head to toe with a forbidding look, he suspected they would have been split up if there been enough adults.

Harry followed John, for once glad he didn't have to lead through the darkness. They quickly found the house had four levels: three with windows and a basement for storage. The top floor contained mostly rooms with what promised to be an excellent view of the sea. They passed through rooms decorated with the colors and mascots of three of Hogwarts' houses on the second floor. Only Slytherin's colors and serpents were missing. The first floor contained room after room of single purpose rooms. Multiple different types of fabrics suggested a sewing room, while an old muggle stationary bicycle and weights told Harry that some recent ancestor of his enjoyed exercising. But perhaps _enjoyed_ was the wrong word.

In each room they searched for any book that might look like the guest registry. If it were up to Harry, though, he'd hide it in the library. When he mentioned that to John, he laughed and agreed. Without having to say a word, both knew Hermione would probably be the first to find the library.

Harry's feet sunk into the plush rugs, and he valiantly fought off his desire to lay down on a thick sheepskin rug in front of a majestic fireplace in the ballroom. It must have been a ballroom, since the massive place echoed like a canyon. John practically rubbed his hands together in glee as he examined the high ceilings and wide, open spaces.

"Now this will be where we grow our fruit and nut trees." John trailed off and mumbled to himself about placing mirrors to enhance the light at the back of the room.

Harry didn't know how John would manage to get mature trees out of the ground, let alone in here, but it was clear that he'd find a way.

He tried to concentrate on that seemingly impossible conundrum to distract himself from one glaring omission in this house. His house. There were no portraits. Landscapes and still life littered the walls while tapestries boasted of heroics from days gone by. But there were no moving, talking people in any of the rooms.

Hope Harry hadn't known he'd felt was dashed. Even though he was going to live in his family's house, it appeared that all he'd ever know of them was their friends' stories and the pictures in his album.

An ear-piercing shout rang through the air, pulling him out of the morass of his thoughts.

"I found it in the library! Third floor, east wing. _Quietus." _

Harry rubbed his ears. _Sonorus_ ought never to be used in a building, let alone in a carved out cave.

"That's my Hermione," John said fondly.

"Of course the book was in the library," Harry muttered as he surveyed the office they'd entered. The desk was shrouded with a heavy, tarpaulin cover, but the gleaming clawed feet peeking out beneath hinted at expensive, elegant taste. He walked to the desk and pulled off the cover, dropping it in the dust.

A desk in the shape of a life size replica of a gryffin, wings folded tightly on its back to form a flat writing surface, greeted him. The drawers were cleverly hidden in the bulk of the body, with disarranged feathers forming the drawer knobs. Harry ran his finger gently – lovingly - across the dark cherry wood polished to a glistening perfection.

He could imagine generations of Potters growing up around such beauty. Perhaps his father had even used it to study at during the summer, moaning and complaining at the heavy workload his professors burdened him with.

"Beautiful," a quiet voice behind him said.

Harry only nodded, not certain he could trust his voice to work around the lump that had settled at the base of his throat. Perhaps he didn't need portraits to learn more about his family.

Understanding, John silently gestured to Harry to follow him. Striding quickly now through the house and up the staircases, dust swirled in unseen eddies behind them with each footstep they took.

Shortly, they both heard Hermione's voice nearly babbling with excitement. _The library must be impressive, indeed, _Harry thought. He stepped inside to find the room itself in pristine condition. All of the tables and chairs were polished to perfection. Harry breathed deeply, grateful for the clean air. He didn't even want to think about all the little wee beasties he'd been breathing in with the dust out there. With his luck, dust in magical houses would have magical beasts in them.

For a moment his mind spun off on a tangent. They could breed those wee little magical beasties, cousins of dust mites, into a deadly cocktail that would invade a wizard through the lungs. All they'd have to do would be to throw mutated dust balls at Voldemort, and they'd be free of him. He snorted with laughter, quickly stopping when everyone looked askance at him, the twins raising identical eyebrows.

Perhaps the twins could modify the dust to attack only Voldemort, he mused half whimsically. The magical world would hardly thank him for unleashing a deadly plague on top of everything.

_If only things were that easy._ Harry felt the need to shake the cobwebs out of his increasingly muddled, tired mind. He opened his mouth in a wide yawn and was amused as one by one, each member of their company yawned in turn.

He glanced at the twins and saw them staring at each other, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Harry could see their next joke product: the contagious yawn powder. Like dust, it would be airborne, causing the whole class to yawn at once. It would drive McGonagall barmy!

Harry paused a moment to examine his recent, random thoughts. He was more tired than he imagined.

Apparently Ollivander thought so too. "Due to the lateness of the hour," he said as he pushed his glasses higher up on his nose, "Let's get everyone registered in the guest book and set up camp."

"Camp?" Ginny asked, surprised.

Harry agreed with the wandmaker. "Sleeping in a roomful of dust sounds rather unappealing to me. I vote that we set our tents up in here," he waved his hand around. "No dust, plenty of room."

"Seconded!" The twins chorused, doing a little jig.

Where they got the energy for their antics, Harry didn't know.

"Excellent suggestion, " said Arthur, stepping forward. "I'll guide you through the basics of adding people to the registry, Harry. It's a fairly simple process."

And simple it was. As people drifted away to set up their tents, Harry examined the book Arthur brought over. The Potter family crest flowed across the cover in color and greater detail. A Chinese Fireball intertwined with a Norwegian Ridgeback dragon, wreathing around the knight in armor at the center. On top floated a golden gryffin stretching triumphant wings.

Harry ran his finger over his family's crest, marveling that each of the animals in the crest had played a role, even if a small one, in his life. As his fingers rested on the knight, the book warmed beneath his touch. He looked at Arthur with a questioning glance.

Arthur smiled warmly, pleased. "The guest book has tested your magic and accepted you as a Potter. Excellent!"

"Of course it would have, I am a Potter." How strange for Arthur to reassume his cover of a bumbling, henpecked husband!

Arthur looked sheepish as he folded his hands together. "Ah, well, my boy. I didn't want to worry you, but sometimes, if a guest register isn't used for a long period of time..." He trailed off.

"That would be bad." Arthur wasn't pretending to bumble around after all. Instead, he'd protected him from a needless worry. "Thanks." Harry envisioned an endless parade of escorting people in and out of the house, perpetually on duty day and night. He'd get nothing done.

"All's well that ends well." Arthur shrugged but seemed pleased nonetheless with his gratitude.

Harry opened the heavy tome. Page after page held names and dates. Crossed out names held a second date beside them as well.

"Crossed out names indicate a revoked permission." Arthur said next to him. "The second date shows when that permission was revoked, the first date when the permission was given."

Harry looked more closely at the dates and flipped to the beginning of the book. "These dates – they go back nearly a thousand of years. To just after Hogwarts was founded!" Nearly a thousand years of history. That boggled his mind. Previously, he'd known only about his parents, and not much there.

A fourth column caught his eye. Each name ended with a Potter. Pointing, he guessed, "These are the people that gave permission to enter?"

"Yes. " Arthur confirmed. "And for you to add your own permissions, all you need to do is tap your wand on the book and say the name of the person you want to give permission to enter. If you want to revoke permission, then you tap the written name in the book and say their name again."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "That seems unusually easy for a book that controls access to the entire Potter manor."

Arthur shook his head in disagreement. "The book samples your magic each time you use your wand to touch it. Even if someone else used your wand, they couldn't access this book. It's really quite secure."

Harry swallowed, suddenly nervous. _The book already recognized my magic, nothing to worry about._ Still, knowing that his magic was being sampled was much different, especially after his experience with the chestnuts today. He held his wand out and tapped the book. "Arthur Weasley." He commanded, trying to make his voice sound firm.

The book flipped open and Harry jumped back in surprise. The pages whirred, sending a light breeze across his face before falling open near the end. He watched as a small pinprick of light wrote the words _Arthur Weasley_, along with the date, in excellent copperplate. Harry smiled. He could see why it would be poor practice to allow just anybody's chicken scratch to mar the readability of the book. Excitement washed through him as he realized he now had an historical account of his family's allies.

He quickly tapped the book and repeated each name of their company in succession, adding Minerva McGonagall and Dobby for good measure. When the light winked out after finishing the last name, Harry stood back with satisfaction. The background of worry he'd entertained since finding the snitch at Gringotts washed away. Not only had they found the manor and made it their refuge, it also looked to be an excellent headquarters for the coming war.

To be continued...


	21. Chapter 20

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

In the last chapter...

_Harry quickly tapped the book and repeated each name of their company in succession, adding Minerva McGonagall and Dobby for good measure. When the light winked out after finishing the last name, Harry stood back with satisfaction. The background of worry he'd entertained since finding the snitch at Gringotts washed away. Not only had they found the manor and made it their refuge, it also looked to be an excellent headquarters for the coming war._

Chapter 20

A red-breasted robin perching in the spindly branch of a dying pine tree warbled its song in Harry's ear. He'd like to think he'd been chosen for this first mission for his prowess at creeping around. Unfortunately, the invisibility cloak stuffed in his pocket had more to do with his selection than anything else. The disillusion charm couldn't be removed from Arthur's face without disrupting the entire spell, and Harry had been reluctant to part with his father's cloak. Still the risk should be small on this outing, and he felt grateful no one had pushed him to donate his cloak to the cause.

Harry smiled as he remembered gathering over breakfast that morning, his first in Potter Manor. Arthur had pushed for immediate action to gather in those they implicitly trusted, which Harry wholeheartedly supported. Moving fast would help them mitigate the worst effects of food scarcity on magical society. Hopefully

He crouched behind a sprawling hawthorn bush just outside the Longbottom Estate with Arthur, surveying the grounds and searching for threats. Though they'd been out of touch with the wizarding world for only a few days, they couldn't be too careful.

The Longbottom place boasted a pond out back with a rickety old boat tied to a pier with a thread-bare rope. A spacious greenhouse sat no more than a stone's throw away from the three-story red brick mansion. Harry had never bothered to ask Neville where his green thumb came from, but the greenhouse answered that question. He hoped it had useful plants inside. Perhaps some sugar beets or sugar cane. His stomach rumbled at the idea.

"Everything looks clear," Arthur said as he peered through the Granger's binoculars. "I'll disillusion myself, then, and off we go."

Harry pulled on his invisibility cloak and grabbed a handful of Arthur's robe just after Arthur disappeared from sight. The last thing they needed was to blow their cover by stumbling into each other. They picked their way with care down the grey stone path circling the lake and leading to the back door. The paving stones under his feet, worn smooth with the passage of time, flowed together seamlessly.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The loud sound startled Harry, since he couldn't see Arthur's arm as he knocked. This was the one weak point in their approach, but Arthur insisted they'd hurt their cause with Augusta Longbottom if they were so rude as to enter her home without a by your leave.

Harry took a deep breath as footsteps clicked down the hallway inside. They needed Neville's growing skills. He could teach the other muggleborn students that would soon be arriving the necessary gardening skills to feed them. They couldn't afford to have children - or adults - pulling up plants instead of weeds.

The door, inlaid with an intricate variety of wood panels depicting a roaring, defiant gryffin, creaked as it slowly opened.

Harry pulled back the hood of his cloak part way – he didn't want someone watching this house to see a bodiless black-haired head floating in the air.

"Yes?" Augusta Longbottom drew the word out as she looked down at him, as if she had invisible boys appear on her doorstep every day of the week.

Arthur spoke instead. "Madame Longbottom, This Arthur Weasley, and I have accompanied Harry Potter with an offer of help I hope you won't refuse."

Harry noticed that Arthur's tones almost approached obsequiousness, and he smothered a smile. Surely Neville's grandmother wasn't that intimidating!

"Won't you come in, then? We can discuss this over a cup of tea." Augusta replied as she turned and walked back down the hardwood floor toward the parlor, the hem of her dark green dress trailing behind her.

Harry followed behind her with a quick step. Tea meant sugar, and he meant to put as many dollops in his as he could get away with.

* * *

Claxton Proudfoot tossed blond hair out of his eyes. He pulled glasses off his nose and examined the lenses for a smeared bug. None. He shook his head, confused. He'd thought he'd just seen a small tuft of black hair floating in front of the Longbottom's back door while Madame Longbottom talked to herself at the door. Ridiculous. He rubbed his tired, red-rimmed eyes before replacing his glasses.

He'd crept around to the rear of the house to keep himself awake. Half of the time he spent as an auror was riddled with boredom, with the other half documenting that boredom with scads of paperwork. He smiled tightly. You-Know-Who hadn't been obliging about attacking places that boasted auror protection. At least not yet.

Still, staking out the house of an upright member of society in the hopes of snagging Harry Potter meant the ministry had hit rock bottom, and his career along with it.

One last glance at the house showed a closed door. Claxton yawned before reaching long fingers into his breast pocket to pull out a brass pocket watch. The slowly moving hand proclaimed the time as nearly noon, while an obnoxious, tinny voice announced, "Your shift is almost over, Dad!" He didn't know whether to sigh or laugh. His daughter Erica had practiced her charms on his watch yet again.

After taking a half step toward the house to investigate, Claxton stopped. These were strange times, but he doubted Harry Potter would visit his school chum. He'd never had in the past, and Madame Longbottom had a fearsome reputation. He'd report his findings back at the ministry – if there still was a ministry - and let the next poor bloke face her wrath. Claxton intended to cash his paycheck and find food. He'd heard that the goblins were selling, albeit with sky high scarcity fees tacked on top.

* * *

A half hour later, Harry patted his delightfully full stomach as he sipped the last heavily-sugared drop of his peppermint tea. Delightfully refreshing, that. He grinned at Neville sitting across from him on a rather worn pink chintz armchair.

"Now, Arthur, what offer would you like to make?" Augusta delicately wiped her mouth with a lace-embroidered cloth napkin.

Arthur set his tea cup down on the table in front of him."You're familiar with recent happenings in the wizarding world?"

"Do you mean the shortage of food or the impending collapse of the ministry?"

Harry rocked back in his chair, shocked. He hadn't expected the ministry to last, but still, it had been only five days since they'd boarded the Hogwarts Express! "The collapse of the ministry?" He blurted out. "What's happened?"

Augusta Longbottom turned a prim look upon him for interrupting her conversation with Arthur, but she answered his question with a sniff. "When the ministry couldn't use you to shore up their woefully pathetic image, things started crashing down. Not because they couldn't use you," She peered at Harry over her reading glasses, "but because their search for you was their only public response to this crisis. These past several days we've seen a run on the bank, followed by a run on every conceivable magical store, and riots in Diagon Alley demanding food from a ministry that doesn't have it."

"I'm surprised Scrimgeour hasn't raided Hogwarts' pantry, then," Arthur said, his eyes troubled as he leaned forward towards Augusta.

"I'm sure he would have if its defenses didn't make that impractical. If You-Know-Who won't attack it, then a washed up old auror certainly won't." Augusta's scathing denunciation of Scrimgeour wasn't contradicted by anyone in their party.

"Well, then, I'm sure you see the dangers of staying here in your current situation," Arthur began persuasively as he gestured with a hand toward the window framing the picturesque greenhouse.

"Certainly," Augusta's ramrod straight spine somehow managed to straighten further with indignation, "But I pity the poor soul who would make such a foolish mistake."

The sharpened edge of malice in her voice took Harry aback, and he swallowed hard as she pulled out a wand encased in sleek steel. She didn't need to brandish it as a threat. No, her ease with the wand, as if it was simply another part of her body, underscored the threat. He was glad she considered him on her side, and he vowed to not interrupt her again. No wonder she was Neville's boggart third year!

Harry spoke quietly, keeping a careful eye on the wand shining brightly as a bullet in the daylight streaming in through diamond-paned windows. "Madame Longbottom, I have no doubt you could defend this home admirably well." He let his eyes stray to her wand before making eye contact with her again. "But the truth is we need you and Neville."

That simple declaration stopped Neville's formidable grandmother in her tracks, and she gestured for him to continue as she slid her wand back in the sheath strapped to her arm inside a voluminous sleeve.

"Our goals are two-fold: to feed as many people as we can and to defeat Voldemort. For the first goal, we need Neville. In fact, we can't do without him." Harry cast a quick glance at his friend. Neville's face matched the pink chintz of his chair, but he squared his jaw and nodded encouragement back to Harry.

"We particularly need help organizing both our food and war efforts. I have no doubt that a lady with such, uh..." Harry paused, searching for the most polite, but accurate, word, "Formidable talents will make sure no shenanigans go on with our resources." Harry nodded once to himself. He had no doubts that Neville's grandmother would make sure things worked like a well-oiled clock, but he studiously avoided all thoughts of the inevitable conflicts between Molly Weasley, Minerva McGonagall, and Augusta Longbottom. That could be worked out later, after they had Neville.

Augusta's thin lips flattened for a moment before a hint of humor curved them up. "In other words, you really need Neville's help with growing food, and you're willing to have his elderly grandmother along to make that happen."

Harry's face flushed bright red. She was worse than Luna about stopping a conversation with painful truths! "Um...uh..." He gave Arthur an appealing look.

"Since you've been so forward with us," Arthur confirmed with no trace of humor in his voice, "We'll be honest as well. Yes, we need Neville. But I expect, if you choose to come, your remarkable ability to cut through nonsense will be just as valuable."

A genuine smile of pleasure crossed Augusta's face. "So long as we understand each other, then yes, we'll come with you." She snapped her fingers and raised her voice. "Minnie. Mopsie. Please come here."

Two house elves with bright green eyes winked into existence, clothed in handkerchiefs carefully stitched together. Each proudly bore the emblem of the Longbottom family on their chest. "Yes, madam?" one elf squeaked with excitement.

"You are to pack the manor, readying all moveable items for transport." Augusta's matter of fact tones wouldn't have been out of place commanding the house elves to clean up the tea cozy. "This man, Master Weasley, will direct you."

Arthur pulled out several bags shimmering with sequins. "We have several bags here that will hold a small room's worth of furniture."

Augusta pinched the bag between her thumb and forefinger and curled her lip with distaste. "Excellent. Minnie, Mopsie, you have your orders."

The two house-elves, Harry couldn't tell which one was Minnie and which was Mopsie, bobbed their heads. "Yes, we's understands!" said one, wringing her knobby fingers. Both the elves and bags winked away.

"There, now. On to the next item of business. Harry, Neville, follow me." Neville's grandmother commanded, walking out of the parlor and through the narrow hallway to the back door, plucking her vulture hat off the coat rack and placing it with care on her head.

"Where...?" Neville's bewildered voice trailed off as he came to a stop beside her.

"The shops of course. I can't have either of you dressed as hooligans or spendthrifts."

Harry couldn't believe his ears. They were going shopping? For clothes? At a time like this? "Madam Longbottom," he ventured. "Perhaps we better help the house-elves and reach our place of safety before we think about shopping." Surely that didn't sound too disrespectful.

"Hogwash!" Augusta sniffed. "The house-elves will have the house packed up within the hour. You'll only get in their way. Growing boys need clothes, especially when going to war."

The apparent non sequitur between the need for clothes and going to war silenced Harry. He shot a pleading look at Arthur. Walking down the streets of Diagon Alley was like standing in front of the ministry with a neon sign saying, "Here's Harry Potter! Come and get me!"

"Perhaps, Augusta, staying here would be better for the boys' safety," Arthur suggested diffidently, concern creasing his face.

"And perhaps you've forgotten I fought Grindelwald side by side with that old goat, Albus Dumbledore? I simply must insist that Harry here receives a Longbottom Special." Augusta Longbottom's icy tones brooked no interference. "A few cosmetic charms and Harry will pass as my nephew. He'll be safe, that I promise."

Arthur looked unhappy but finally agreed with one caveat. They would use Minnie and Mopsie as go-betweens with a code word – toadstool - to indicate imminent danger. Every fifteen minutes a house-elf would check in with their mistress.

To be continued...


	22. Chapter 21

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

From the last chapter...

"_And perhaps you've forgotten I fought Grindelwald side by side with that old goat, Albus Dumbledore? I simply must insist that Harry here receives a Longbottom Special." Augusta Longbottom's icy tones brooked no interference. "A few cosmetic charms and Harry will pass as my nephew. He'll be safe, that I promise."_

_Arthur looked unhappy but finally agreed with one caveat. They would use Minnie and Mopsie as go-betweens with a code word – toadstool - to indicate imminent danger. Every fifteen minutes a house-elf would check in with their mistress._

Chapter 21

Harry tumbled out the floo at the Leaky Cauldron, cursing himself for forgetting to search for the red light signaling his impending stop. Thankfully, only Tom the barkeeper turned forlorn eyes on him.

Augusta walked out of the floo serenely, brushing at a fleck of soot on her sleeve. "Tom, hello." She paused and looked around the empty room.

Tom followed her gaze and sighed as he polished a glass to shining perfection. "Aye. No customers yesterday or today, or ever again as far as I can tell. I ran out of drink and..." he shrugged his shoulders.

A strong hand gripped Harry and pulled him forward. He was just grateful Madame Longbottom hadn't pinched his ear to get him to move. She'd have no compunction about bruising anyone's ears.

"Please meet my nephew, Grisholm, from the country. He hasn't had much cause for travel since he didn't qualify for Hogwarts." Augusta's nose wrinkled as if she smelled something rotten and rank. "I'm bringing him out into society as a favor to his mother."

_At least that took care of the clumsiness with the floo,_ Harry consoled himself. His magical abilities had never been described as substandard, and he didn't particularly like it. Tom, who had always been friendly towards Harry, now gave a dismissive, "Ah," and proceeded to ignore him.

Neville, quiet through Augusta Longbottom's speech, turned toward him and gave a small smile. Harry was sure Neville had endured many such speeches before. Spending a few hours with his grandmother was giving Harry loads of new insight into his friend.

"Have there been any new developments?" Augusta asked Tom, gesturing toward the doorway leading to Diagon Alley."

Tom grunted. "That there has been. The Wizengamot called for a vote of no-confidence in Scrimgeour, as expected. He couldn't have handled this situation with the muggles any worse." He turned and spat on the clean floor.

"But..." Augusta prompted.

"But some young whippersnapper has blown in from across the pond and is insisting he's fit to be installed as the temporary minister, that's what!" He threw his rag down on the counter and glowered at the three of them.

"Surely anyone's better than Scrimgeour, though." Harry said. Perhaps a change in the ministry would get them off his back.

Augusta stepped forward and slightly to the side, effectively cutting Harry out of the conversation. He stifled a groan - he'd forgotten they hadn't disguised his voice.

Tom shook his head. "Alrick Armstrong says he's been off traveling the world for the last few decades, but that he was home-schooled in Britain, which is why we've never heard of the bloke. He can't be serious, though! Who would elect a complete unknown to office?"

Desperate people would elect anyone who promised to end the pain and bring back safety.

Augusta's eyes narrowed. "There's not much we can do about it if the Wizengamot installs him as a temporary figurehead, pending elections." She moved toward the courtyard behind the Leaky Cauldron, not once looking behind to see if Neville and Harry followed. "We'd best be on our way. Thank you Tom."

Tom picked up the same glass he'd been polishing and scrubbed it with his rag. "Aye. Come back when all this ends." He waved a despondent hand in the air as they left.

* * *

Claxton Proudfoot struggled to rein in his temper and his fingers twitched at his side as he stood next to his desk. It looked like he wasn't going to pick up his paycheck anytime soon.

His boss shoved his face close to Claxton's and shouted, "Did you, or did you not know that Harry Potter has an invisibility cloak? And he just so happens to have black hair. My, my, my, what a coincidence. Even a toddler could have put two and two together. "

Sarcasm dripped from Gawain Robard's every word. The head of the aurors department took a step back with his short, dumpy legs and slammed a hand down on Claxton's desk, sending papers flying onto the floor. "You can be assured if Harry Potter isn't found at the Longbottom house, a letter of reprimand will be placed in your file, effective today."

Claxton paled. He and his wife were counting on a pay raise to fund his daughter's tuition at Hogwarts this year. "Sir," he said, not daring to check his noisy pocket watch, "It couldn't have been more than half an hour or so since I saw him..." He trailed off, not daring to suggest that his boss should save his recriminations for later.

Gawain glowered at him and grumbled, "I want every available auror to head to the Longbottoms, now." His head twitched as he noticed Kingsley Shacklebolt slipping out into the hallway. "And where are you going, Kingsley?"

Kingsley froze for a moment and turned around. "To the bathroom," he said with an entirely straight face. He dodged deftly to one side as he avoided one of the ubiquitous interdepartmental memos flying through the air.

"I don't care if you mess your pants! Are you, or are you not an auror?" Without pausing to take a breath, Gawain ordered, "We're leaving now. I want anti-apparition wards set up first thing and a trace on the floo."

With that, a series of pops echoed through the now empty auror department.

* * *

A babble of voices crescendoed into one loud roar as the archway to Diagon Alley opened for Harry, Neville, and Augusta Longbottom.

"Eggs! I'll trade a self-adjusting chair for a dozen eggs! All you have to do is sit down in it!"

"Pumpkin juice! A spare wand for pumpkin juice!"

"I'll trade a brand new firebolt for a loaf of bread!"

Each call went unanswered, the hawkers growing increasingly desperate to find food. Most people had a two or three day supply of food stored at their house to begin with, but it had been over a week since the simultaneous EMP explosions, and anyone who had food wasn't trading.

No, that wasn't quite accurate. Harry caught a glimpse of Mundungus Fletcher, that old thief, making off with a hoard of magical items. No doubt Mundungus had stolen some tins or some such and planned to make his fortune. Harry shook his head in disgust. What good was a firebolt if you starved? Firebolts couldn't follow you on the next great adventure.

Harry scanned the crowds as he slipped behind Augusta, and he marveled that no one gave him a second glance as he walked through the crowded street. Neville's grandmother had changed his signature messy black hair to a curly, chestnut brown. The curls changed the shape of his head completely. _Why didn't Hermione teach me these charms earlier? _He asked himself. But the answer quickly presented itself: hiding his scar and changing his hair and eye color would have done no good at Hogwarts where a stranger stood out like a sore thumb.

Still, Harry followed Neville's grandmother closely. Her vulture hat attracted far more attention than the two shorter boys trailing in her wake.

"Neville," Harry hissed, keeping a careful watch on the crowds of witches and wizards pressing in around him. "What's a Longbottom Special?" Even Harry could hear the capital letters. It had to be something important for Augusta Longbottom to insist they buy it before going into hiding. Either that or she was barmy.

Neville face grew grim. "Clothes with special charms designed for battle armor. That's how my mum and dad lived to fight You-Know-Who three times. The clothes don't protect against unforgivables, of course." Neville glanced away and swallowed. "But they provide a bit of protection against things like cutting and blasting charms."

Harry eyed Augusta Longbottom's hat once again, taking note of the sharp, cruel talons and wicked beak. The staring beady eyes almost looked like they would blink at any moment. Harry imagined the vulture leaping into flight off the tall woman to gouge at the eyes of her opponent.

"Do you think she'll want me to get a hat like that?" Harry nodded towards Augusta still marching in front of them.

"I hope not!" Neville shuddered.

A deep echoing voice interrupted the boys as they passed Gringotts bank on the way to Madame Malkins. "I, Alrick Armstrong, will ensure a steady supply of food to all magical people! I will not allow the goblins to bleed away your life's blood for food!"

A cheer interrupted the dark, wavy haired stranger standing on the steps of the white marbled bank. He raised his hands in acknowledgment and the crowds quieted. "All I ask is that you make your voices heard. Persuade the Wizengamot to install me as the temporary head of the ministry, and I promise you'll vote later to keep me in the regular elections. But can we wait for elections?"

"No!" The audience chanted, thoroughly enthralled by this man they'd never heard of before today.

"Who's fault is it that we don't have food?" The charismatic wizard shouted.

"Muggles!"

Harry shook his head in disbelief. This Alrick Armstrong had evidently been speaking for some time.

"For thousands of years, muggles have existed to feed us. Now they have abrogated their responsibility. Should that go unanswered?" Alrick took a step forward, black eyes sweeping the crowd.

Harry looked out on the hopeless men and women surrounding him. He didn't like the direction this wizard was going. He was stoking the fire between the wizards and muggles, and muggles couldn't even defend themselves.

"If I am placed as the temporary minister, I will make sure the food that rightfully belongs to us comes to us!"

Cheers broke out in the increasingly crowded street. Harry grunted as a plump, middle-aged witch stepped on his foot in her eagerness to get closer. The white-haired wizard next to him reached out toward the Armstrong with trembling hands. "Thank Merlin!"

That cry was slowly taken up by the crowd. "Thank Merlin! Thank Merlin!"

A child's piercing voice floated above the crowd. "No, don't thank Merlin! He is Merlin, come back to save us all!"

The slightest smirk graced Armstrong's lips for a moment as he made eye contact with Harry. A sharp pain lanced through his scar, and Harry struggled to keep his eyes from popping wide open.

Voldemort stood before them.

To be continued...

A/N Augusta Longbottom did indeed have a method to her madness... who indeed would go clothes shopping while the world fell to pieces around them? Not Augusta, unless it was for clothing charmed for battle. I think she enjoyed tweaking Harry and Arthur's noses a bit, don't you? :)


	23. Chapter 22

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

From the last chapter...

_The slightest smirk graced Armstrong's lips for a moment as he made eye contact with Harry. A sharp pain lanced through his scar, and Harry struggled to keep his eyes from popping wide open. _

_Voldemort stood before them. _

Chapter 22

Harry broke eye contact with the most evil wizard of his time by glancing down, trying to seem abashed to look in the eyes of one so great. At least he hoped Voldemort thought that. He couldn't afford to get captured on a simple shopping trip. Egads.

Always when he'd come face to face with Voldemort before, he'd had no choice but to fight. This time, he could slip away through the crowd and no one would fault him. Harry raised his head and shuffled to the side, shifting closer to Neville.

Voldemort's eyes swept the crowd, gauging the excitement and mania before he pushed them just a bit further in the direction he wanted to go.

"I, of course, don't _claim_ to be Merlin," Voldemort rested a pale hand on his chest in a gesture of humility.

Harry wanted to gag at the subtle deception, but he swallowed hard instead and tuned out the hypnotizing words weaving a trap about the rapt audience. Harry's hand crept into his pocket and pulled out his wand, cloaking the movement with his cloak sleeve. He didn't want a nosy witch or wizard calling out an alarm.

He'd never cast a spell while holding the center of his wand, and he hoped it didn't mess anything up. For this to work, he needed only the tip of his wand protruding from his sleeve. With his other hand he grabbed Neville's arm and pushed him toward the front of the crowd. "Let's see our new minister up close," Harry raised his voice as a cover for their movements.

Neville looked at him in askance before shrugging and pushing forward, Harry following close behind.

Harry's mind raced as he discarded one option after another. Using _sectumsempra_, the cutting curse that Snape had created, would be sweet revenge. While Voldemort likely had death eaters scattered throughout the audience, the former potions master wouldn't be present to sing the counter curse. The Headmaster's murderer couldn't risk betraying his presence till Voldemort had full sway over the ministry.

Neville's pace slowed to a crawl as he neared the front of the crowd. Nearby witches and wizards grumbled at the larger boy - they had no intention of being shoved out of the way.

Harry rolled his wand back and forth in his fingers. Killing Voldemort right now would inconvenience him, no doubt, but that was it. That traitorous rat Wormtail would orchestrate another rebirth within days or weeks. Plus the minor detail that the adoring audience would tear Harry apart limb from limb if they caught him.

He wrinkled his nose and wracked his brain for a curse that might instead debilitate Voldemort, that would slow him down while the Order searched for and destroyed his horcruxes. A memory of Vernon's aging and decrepit mother flashed through his mind. She'd suffered from dementia – Alzheimer's – and Harry had been stuck caring for her in his spare time the last few years of her life. He'd only been six, seven, and eight, but he vividly remembered that she'd talked for ages about her growing up years before pausing to ask who Harry was for the tenth time that day.

He'd ensured that she ate and took her medicine, but he never wanted to die the way she had, confused and alone, with not even the memory of past years to comfort her.

_Voldemort forgetting magic and me along with it would be perfect. _Harry's smile hardened and he slipped his wand arm between Neville and the bloke next to him, hoping the unknown wizard was as lost in Voldemort's speech as the rest of them.

Harry paused, arm raised half-way, as he remembered Gilderoy Lockhart in his last visit to St. Mungos. Gilderoy had started to recover his memories, albeit slowly. Besides, an immediate _obliviate_ would be obvious to the crowd. Harry needed a time-release obliviate that eventually scrambled Voldemort's brains at the same time.

_If Hermione were here, she'd brilliantly combine some spell like the jelly-brain jinx with __obliviate to get the exact result needed._ He smiled to himself and glanced down at his tan wand. That might be an exaggeration, but only slightly.

He leaned forward and whispered to Neville, "Don't move! And act natural, whatever you do."

Looking down, Harry's eyes traced the tip of his wand peeking out from his cloak sleeve. _His wand!_ Ollivander had said that his wand amplified intent. Maybe he could fly by the seat of his pants on this, after all. Aiming carefully – he didn't want to lose his only chance by missing like he did with Snape – he whispered almost inaudibly, "_Aresto_ _farrago obliviate."_

Harry concentrated hard on two things: his memory of Vernon's mother dying from Alzheimer's, and his need for the obliviate to progress slowly and focus on all memories of magic. Thankfully, no colorful jet of light appeared as warmth flooded down his arm, into his hand, and out through his bonded wand. His heart beat loudly in his ears and adrenaline raced through his veins as he pulled the wand back and pushed it up his sleeve in one smooth motion.

Voldemort whipped his head around as a lone tendril of wind played with the hem of his robes. He scanned the section of crowd Harry hid in, lips compressed tightly for a moment before curving again in a pleasant smile.

Harry prayed for the second time in his life that Neville's mind wouldn't be screaming in panic. Or if it was, that Neville's nervousness would lead him to examine the ground at his feet. Apparent bashfulness might throw Voldemort off the scent. His friend had surely heard Harry cast his cobbled-together spell, and Voldemort – that master legilimencer – was no doubt scanning the crowd for potential threats as well as information to use in his charismatic speech

A wry smile tugged at his mouth. Looking at the dirt-encrusted cobblestones beneath his feet wasn't such a bad idea. Harry didn't know if combining Latin words used in the jelly brains jinx and _aresto momentum _to the obliviate spell had done anything whatsoever, but judging by the renewed bombastic lies falling once again from Voldemort's lips, he still had his memory.

After pausing to allow Voldemort's to regain his head of steam, Harry shifted forwards and clamped his hand on Neville's robe. "We should leave." He hissed sideways out of his mouth.

Neville didn't argue. Perhaps the urgency lacing Harry's voice persuaded him explanations were best left for later. One final glance behind him showed Voldemort spreading his arms out toward the audience as they cheered their savior once again.

Pushing against witch after wizard jostled Harry first left and then right. Two stepped-on feet and five sharp elbows to the ribs later, he burst out the edge of the packed crowd. Augusta Longbottom glided serenely behind them, her stiff posture and slightly elevated nose broadcasting her disdain for the riffraff behind her.

Or perhaps she'd noticed Harry's attempted curse.

Before Harry could discretely hurry her along, a house elf winked into view. He turned his head sharply, examining the twitching, nervous elf for signs of distress.

"Does the Mistress wants fish for dinner?" The elf squeaked, bouncing up and down on her feet.

"Fish will be fine." Augusta nodded her head and waved her hand at the elf, shooing it away.

The elf's golf-ball sized eyes blinked rapidly as she processed this response. Tension flowed out of her like a river and she winked away. Harry had no doubt they would see her again in fifteen short minutes.

If Neville's grandmother had asked for toadstools with the fish, the house elf would have forcibly winked both Harry, Neville and Augusta back to the Longbottom house, something Harry didn't know was possible.

_Still_, Harry thought, _that might be the best course of action at this point._ Knowing Voldemort walked a few hundred meters away raised the hair on the back of his neck. They wouldn't be safe till they reached Neville's place.

Harry didn't dare fill Neville and Madame Longbottom in as they strode through the alley to Madame Malkin's shop. He didn't know who was listening. As they reached the doorstep, he paused and pulled out the money bag he'd kept on his person for just such an occasion. As both John and Arthur had taught him, the prepared person was in a position to take advantage of opportunities.

"I'd like to buy all of the Longbottom Specials they have on hand," Harry said, firming his jaw as Augusta Longbottom opened her mouth in protest. He'd seen the thread-bare state of their furniture. He was sure they had the money - maybe they'd even saved it for such a day as this. But the Longbottom Special couldn't be saved for just the Longbottoms and the Chosen One. "Times are rather dire, don't you think?"

Augusta closed her mouth and narrowed her eyes, thinking furiously. She reminded Harry of Hermione with an idea buzzing around in her brain. Augusta folded her arms across her chest and tapped her foot. "On one condition, young man. We must bring Madame Malkin with us. Only she has the final spells needed to finish out the Longbottom Special."

Harry's eyes darted around the street. Normally pristine signs hung askew, battered and broken. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and the cobblestones under his feet stuck to his shoes like the floor of a poorly-kept movie theatre. He didn't know Madame Malkin well enough to trust her with the secret of Potter Estate and the Order.

Neville drew a step closer. "It's all right, Harry. The Malkins have made battle clothing for the Longbottoms for centuries. There's not been one of them that's gone bad, just like our family."

Neville puffed his chest out with familial pride, and Harry grinned at him. Not many friends would cover for him – trust him - while he hexed the next minister of magic. And not many families could boast such a record of downright good people. Perhaps it wasn't a surprise that two such families, the Longbottoms and Malkins, had formed a quiet alliance to aid one another during the wizarding wars that swept their world in waves.

"Or," Augusta drew the word out. "We could bring people in one by one for fittings and the final spells." She glanced at Harry over her glasses. "They're a family secret, and it wouldn't be right to pressure it out of her."

Harry pictured a parade of Order members waltzing in and out of Madame Malkin's shop. Someone would notice. He shook his head vigorously. "You don't understand! That fellow back there-" he jabbed his finger back the way they'd come. "He's Volde-" He broke off with a strangled squeak as Neville's formidable grandmother pinched his ear and twisted.

"Never say his name!" She hissed in his ear. "What did they teach you at that pile of rocks they call a school?"

Harry tried to pull away unsuccessfully and winced at the pain lancing through his ear. If she pinched his ear just because he'd said Voldemort's name, perhaps she hadn't seen his makeshift jinx. Relief coursed through Harry. He had no doubt he'd be lectured and sent to bed without supper if she'd found out about his little adventure in front of Gringotts.

For a brief moment, he could see her taking Albus Dumbledore to task with a pinched ear or painful pull on his beard to make her point. Augusta Longbottom was no respecter of persons when it came to giving a piece of her mind. Harry tried to arrange his face in the appropriately humble look he'd often used with his Aunt Petunia.

Augusta took pity on him and released his ear. "Young man, if that snake oil salesman back there is who you say he is, why in the world would you say his name?"

"Uh," Harry struggled to meet her gaze, a remote part of him glad she looked for all the world like an aunt scolding an errant nephew. That would help their cover story. "Professor Dumbledore said to never fear a name?" His voice rose in pitch as he finished.

"Hogwash." Augusta turned away to survey the street. "In the first war, You-Know-Who made his name a taboo. You can bet that's the first thing he'll do if he succeeds in taking over the ministry apparatus."

_Taboo?_ Harry mouthed the word.

Seeing his confusion, Augusta relented. "If anyone says a word placed under a taboo, his henchmen will be alerted to the location so they can be tracked down."

The magnitude of the mistake he could have made in the next few days - betraying the location of Potter Manor - swept through Harry, and he felt dizzy. Binns must have been too busy with the goblin wars to cover that bit of trivia.

"Let's invite Madame Malkin, then," he said, a trifle pale in the face. He handed his money bag to her, and she accepted it without a word. It would be strange for her grand-nephew Grisholm to carry about a fortune in gold.

Augusta gave a regal nod and stepped through the front door of the shop.


	24. Chapter 23

Disclaimer: Everything you recogonize belongs to JK Rowling.

From the last chapter...

"_Let's invite Madame Malkin, then," Harry said, a trifle pale in the face. He handed his money bag to her, and she accepted it without a word. It would be strange for her grand-nephew Grisholm to carry about a fortune in gold._

_Augusta gave a regal nod and stepped through the front door of the shop._

Chapter 23

Arthur Weasley wiped sweat off his forehead as the last bits of the Longbottom's slimy pond scum, fish, and water flew into his nearly-bottomless bag. John would be pleased with a continual source of fresh water fish. He was certain they could fish in the ocean, but it would be ever so much easier to tie some lines in a specially prepared room in the Potter Manor.

Arthur didn't know how they would manage it, but he was sure they could provide sufficient light, air, and food for the fish to thrive and multiply. Plus, he'd heard John say that dead fish guts made excellent fertilizer. He wrinkled his nose at the idea.

Hermione's bag hadn't been big enough, so he'd increased the expansion charms four-fold and hoped that would be enough. Arthur looked down at his shoes, wet and stained green. He hadn't realized the bags weren't waterproof, but he'd rectified that in a hurry. He sighed. Molly wouldn't be pleased with the mess he'd made.

He moved along the worn stone pathway at a quick clip, eager to transplant as much of Neville's greenhouse as he could. Chances were low that any of them were edible, but he'd heard that Neville adored his magical plants.

Arthur worked quickly, getting lost in the rhythm of digging up a plant, engorging an acorn shell, and packing the plant securely in the makeshift pot. He gave one glance at the mandrakes before skipping them. Hopefully Madame Sprout would bring her collection.

"Sir?" One of the house elves interrupted.

"Yes?" Arthur wiped dirt off his hands, missing the bits encrusted under his fingernails. He'd finished transplanting nearly half of the most valuable looking plants.

"We's needs you inside. The portraits won't come."

Arthur nodded and followed the eager elf inside. He brought his bags with him. If he hadn't, he was sure a stray dog would come along and tear the pond bag to pieces. He'd never hear the end of it from Augusta.

* * *

Claxton Proudfoot glared at the Longbottom home. It looked deserted, although he could spot a house elf silhouette here and there. They seemed to be moving unusually fast, even for house elves. He frowned.

John Dawlish strode up, breaking bush branches and making an infernal racket. Claxton turned his glare on Dawlish with his tall broad shoulders and thick brown hair. He looked the picture of an auror, one reason Claxton was sure the man had advanced so quickly in the ranks.

Dawlish didn't seem to notice his glare. "We've set the apparition wards and placed a trace on the floo. Not only that, we've made the floo one-way. We'll know if anyone gets in, but no can go out." He grinned savagely.

"I haven't seen any humans in the house, yet." Claxton reported. "Anyone on your side?"

Dawlish shook his head. "It looks like someone's been in the green house recently, and the pond's been drained, but that's it."

_The pond was drained? But It was full this morning_. Claxton turned that over in his mind for a moment, but shrugged. Maybe the house elves were performing maintenance on the pond. The little buggers liked to clean everything.

Dawlish interrupted his musings. "The boss wants us all up front. He'll give us our marching orders."

Claxton trudged off behind the tall auror. With no reason to hide his presence, the sound of his footsteps swishing through long grass echoed through the edge of the forest adjoining the Longbottom place. He angrily jerked his sleeve away from a grasping branch, tearing it in the process. He still thought they were wasting their time. Even Harry Potter couldn't magically conjure food.

* * *

"Maeve!" Augusta called out as the door shut softly behind them. A faint bell tinkled in the back, and Madame Malkin stepped out of her office.

"My dear, it's so good to see you!" She bustled up to the front. "You're my first customer this whole wretched day." She waved her arm expansively.

A few robes hung on each rack, some hanging on by only a sleeve.

"The place was nearly ransacked yesterday. I threw out the hooligans, of course." Madame Malkin placed her hands on her hips, indignation coloring the movement. "We get most of our fabrics from muggles as well, and when a few smart witches cottoned on to that fact..." She shrugged her shoulders.

The pop of a house elf winking in at Augusta's elbow interrupted her.

"Pardon me, Maeve." Augusta bent down and whispered in the elf's ear.

As the elf disappeared, Augusta gestured for Madame Malkin to continue. "A security precaution. Please do go on."

"That's about it, Augusta. I sent the shop girls home. With no inventory, I hardly need to have them standing around chattering all day."

They certainly hadn't tidied up, Harry noted. Not only were the robes crooked, but dirt and paper littered the floor, tracked in by hordes of witches stocking up their wardrobe.

"I'm afraid I've come to clean you out as well," Augusta said. "You do still have the Longbottom battle cloth?"

"Of course! Not even the shop girls know about that." She hurried to the back wall of the shop and tapped a few wooden panels. Bolt after bolt of cloth appeared as the wooden panels melted away. "You've paid a monthly retainer for us to make and stock this for generations, we'd hardly sell it to anyone else!"

Harry reached out a hand to touch a scarlet bolt of cloth. "It feels like leather, but different. Smoother."

Madam Malkin smiled. "That's because it's an amalgam of different magical plant and animal skins of all types."

Harry jerked his hand back as he pictured how many sentient or near-sentient creatures had died to produce this battle cloth. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

Madam Malkin reached over and patted his arm. "Not to worry, young man. We only use plants and animals that die of natural causes for this. It won't hold protective spells anywhere near as long if its last moments were marred by violence."

"That's why it takes so long to create a bolt of cloth. Years, really." Neville added.

Harry nodded, relieved. He couldn't imagine killing Buckbeak just so he could have more protection, although he was sure there were wizards who would do so if they could.

"Pardon me, Maeve." Augusta said. "I'm afraid with all of the commotion outside, I forgot to introduce my nephew to you. This is Grisholm. His mother is distantly related to Alice."

As introductions were exchanged, Harry marveled that Neville's grandmother could switch from frankly terrifying to polite and amiable so quickly.

As the four of them pulled bolt after brightly-colored bolt out of the hidden alcove, Madam Malkin asked, "Would you like to do the fitting here or at your house?" Her smile didn't reach her eyes as she swept her gaze over the empty shop.

"Maeve, how much food do you have?" Augusta asked instead, half turning to look directly into her old friend's eyes.

Madam Malkin glanced away, her lips tightening.

Augusta nodded. "That's as I thought. I want you to come with us. We need you to make battle robes for dozens of people – as many as we can manage out of these." She waved her hand at the last bolt of cloth disappearing into one of Hermione's beaded bags.

Madame Malkin's shoulders slumped as she stared at the empty space around her. "I've spent my entire life in this shop. I was born in the flat overhead, you know."

"What's more important: you or the shop?" Harry asked quietly, interrupting their conversation.

"I am the shop, my dear boy." All sadness drained out of her voice as she snapped, "And don't think you fool me, young man. I've fitted you for robes since you were eleven, and no amount of curly hair will change that!"

Harry started, alarm racing through him. Maybe his disguise wasn't as good as he'd thought. He glanced out the front windows of the shop, but he couldn't see anyone skulking around or eavesdropping. That didn't mean a whole lot, though.

"Relax," Madame Malkin huffed. "Forgive an old lady for being so snappish. It's not your fault that I don't know where the shop ends and I begin after all these years."

"You''ll be compensated for your time. You can rebuild if the shop isn't here when you get back," Augusta said.

Madame Malkin waved away the money bag the Longbottom matriarch held out. "I've plenty from the run on the shop yesterday. We'll settle up later. "

"Hadn't we best be getting back soon?" Neville asked hesitantly. "It's been more than fifteen minutes since one of the house elves popped in." He glanced at his grandmother and cringed.

"Something's wrong." Augusta slipped Harry's money bag into her red purse and walked toward the stairs. "Follow me! We mustn't waste a second packing."

Madame Malkin looked at the two boys for a moment before sighing and hurrying to catch up to her friend. "I guess I'm coming, then."

The two older witches packed the small flat over the shop in under five minutes. How they accomplished it, Harry had no idea. He'd taken one look at the flying stream of possessions flooding into yet another of Hermione's bags and ducked back down the stairs for cover. He was going to have to ask her where she'd found so many hideous bags. If he ever saw Aunt Marge again, he would recommend them to her.

A few minutes shy of an hour after they left the Longbottom house, Harry, Neville, Augusta, and Madame Malkin flew out of the floo in rapid succession, just in time to hear a magnified voice shout, "I repeat, this is Gawain Robard, head of the auror department. Aurors have surrounded your place and placed anti-apparition wards. Your outgoing floo is blocked. You can't escape. Bring the Potter boy out and no one will be harmed. _Quietus._"

Harry buried his face in his hands and groaned. On his first trip away from the manor, he'd managed to run into to Voldemort, hex him, and get captured by the ministry. Only Harry Potter had enough abysmal luck to pull that off.

To be continued...


	25. Chapter 24

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

In the last chapter...

_Harry buried his face in his hands and groaned. On his first trip away from the manor, he'd managed to run into to Voldemort and get captured by the ministry. Only Harry Potter had enough abysmal luck to pull that off._

Chapter 24

"Didn't the house elves warn you off?" Arthur asked, running in from the next room over while stuffing a large book with a crumbling binding into his bag.

"Vol- I mean You-Know-Who -" Harry glanced carefully at Neville's grandmother. She gave him a prim nod. Harry rushed on. "He's trying to get himself installed as minister. He made a big speech in front of Gringotts. We thought it best to hurry." Harry pointed to his forehead where his scar would normally took pride of place as explanation of how he knew.

Both Madame Malkin and Arthur did a double take. Before either of them could reply to that outlandish statement, Augusta intervened. "Mopsie, Minnie, where are you?" She raised her voice.

No house elf responded to her call.

Arthur's mouth drew down in an unhappy frown. "They called me in from the greenhouse to deal with the portraits, and that's when I found your fantastic collection of arithmancy books. I never knew-" Arthur took a deep breath and visibly took a hold of himself. "When the aurors first announced themselves, I sent both house-elves to you with all they'd packed. That was nearly ten minutes ago. I grabbed these books for research and development before escaping."

While Arthur had been speaking, Harry drifted near the windows of the receiving room. He peeked out the curtains. Gesticulating house-elves came into view. They appeared to be giving a small group of aurors a thorough dressing down, Augusta Longbottom style. Harry wished he could hear what they said. Judging by Dawlish's red face, it was infuriating.

Harry smiled.

"Look here!" He gestured the others toward the window. "They're outside stalling the aurors, as near as I can tell."

As Gawain Robards moved to tap his throat with a wand, presumably to cast the _sonorus _charm to speak to them again, one of the house-elves moved forward and began shaking her small finger under his nose. The head auror turned to one of the men surrounding him and growled something. Every auror pulled out his wand and aimed at the two elves with bags hanging off each limb and criss-crossing their chest. They looked more like covered coat racks than elves. Instead of cowering, though, both house-elves pivoted on their feet and winked away.

Pop! Pop!

Both house-elves appeared next to their mistress, smug smiles plastering their faces.

"What-" Arthur began to thunder, his face growing an uncharacteristic red. A wave of Augusta's hand quickly cut him off.

"I see you were stalling to allow Arthur to get away. Excellent. Unfortunately, we're trapped here now. Can you wink us out?"

The two elves hung their heads. "No," one whispered disconsolately.

"Not through wizard wards. Winking is like wizard travel, but for elves." The other said, drooping under her suddenly heavy burden of bags.

Augusta nodded and turned to the others. "I encourage independence in my elves. They did their best. I won't blame them."

"Of course not," Arthur agreed, distracted as he rummaged through his pockets.

Augusta turned to Madame Malkin. "I'm terribly sorry we've landed you in an unsavory situation. I'll explain that you had nothing to do with harboring Harry Potter."

Harry scrunched his shoulders up, moving the collar of his shirt up nearly to his ears. Only criminals were _harbored._

"Nonsense," Arthur said, still turning out his pockets. Bits of lint and paper fell through his fingers. "What's it called when you can't find something when you need it? Maxby's Law?"

Harry looked around their haphazard circle. Blank faces stared back at Arthur with incomprehension.

Now was not the time to have a group discussion about muggle laws declaring that anything that can possibly go wrong, will go wrong. _Why are we standing around here, waiting to be captured?" _Harry wondered. A glance over his shoulder showed that aurors had begun advancing toward the house. "I vote we fight," he said abruptly. "Some of us ought to get away out the back."

"I don't see a broom about your person-" Augusta Longbottom began, but her scathing critique of Harry's suggestion was interrupted by Arthur's shout of triumph.

A sharp, golden dragon fang lay on Arthur's pale palm. Dumbledore's portkey to Bill. Arthur must have made plans with Molly to pick Bill up later today.

A loud explosion rang through the air as the front, back and side doors of the Longbottom house simultaneously flew off their hinges, sharp splinters of wood flying through the hallway and past the open door where the fugitives stood.

"Portkey!" Harry shouted, his tongue almost twisting the syllables in his haste to inform Neville, Augusta, and Madame Malkin what the fang was. He reached out and touched a sliver of the portkey, the curved metal cool to his touch.

Footsteps pounded down the hallway as the other three followed suit, Augusta Longbottom grabbing a thin arm from each house elf with one hand while placing one fingertip on the portkey.

"Ragnok!" Arthur shouted.

The receiving room with the granite fireplace and chintz chairs whirled out of sight in a rainbow colored swirl that had never been so welcome to Harry.

* * *

Claxton Proudfoot blasted apart the servant's entryway, ran down the hallway and slid to a halt outside the door to the receiving room, shoes squeaking on the polished wood. The targets in front of him huddled in a tight circle, as if afraid of the aurors. As well they should be.

He aimed his wand as Arthur Weasley shouted a goblin's name. _No one will help you here. _He smiled grimly, "_Stupe-" _He broke off in shock as the group disappeared in a blaze of color visible only to the magical eye.

He was never going to get his paycheck now. He groaned out loud as boots thundered to a halt beside him.

"Auror, why are you standing still?" Gawain Robard's blue eyes pierced the younger man.

For a moment, Claxton was tempted to say nothing of the portkey. Let the other aurors come up empty handed, and they might all take the blame. But just for a moment. He'd be no better than any other lying criminal, then. If his paycheck got docked because of this, perhaps he could find food in the muggle world somehow. There had to be bunches of muggles with stashes of food yet.

He took a deep breath, squared his narrow shoulders, and explained to his boss about Arthur Weasley's portkey.

Gawain Robards gnashed his teeth as he listened, fists clenched at his side. A vein throbbed in his neck. He turned away from Claxton to shout orders to the other aurors in the house. "I want that portkey traced, even if we have to invent a spell to do it! Check the ministry logs for all portkeys given to the Longbottoms or Weasleys."

Robards turned back to Claxton and jabbed a stubby finger at him. "I should have had you flying around on a broom, not Kingsley! You will not leave my sight, do you hear! You will inform the minister why we didn't capture Harry Potter in excruciating detail." His boss paused, gasping in a deep breath. "Now, tell me everything you saw and heard."

Claxton swallowed around the hard lump burning in his throat and nodded.

* * *

Harry landed with a thud on his stomach, the cool tile underneath him a counterpoint to the warm bodies slamming into his back. "Geroff!" he groaned, his face squished into the floor. _Of course I managed to land on the bottom of the heap! I'm cursed!_

He heard the house-elves squeaking "We's so sorry! So sorry!" The pile on Harry lightened minutely, but he winced instead as he heard the retching sounds of house-elves throwing up. That was the last thing his unsettled stomach needed. He just hoped the elves had made it off the pile before losing their lunch.

They hadn't.

Harry cringed as vomit dripped down his neck and around his ears, the rank smell filling his nostrils. That sent a dry heave rolling through him, and Harry used all his strength to wriggle out from under the pile, desperate to vanish the vomit as soon as possible.

"Watch out!" Neville complained, rubbing a knee as he stood up.

As the rest sorted themselves out, Harry cleaned himself up and looked around. Weapons decorated the walls of the small corner office they'd landed in. Miniature sets of chain mail were surrounded by gleaming battle axes, unstrung compound bows, and wickedly sharp knives. A large desk dominated the room. Small holes marred the sides of the desk, and Harry peered closer as he noticed a flash of light in one of them. Upon leaning closer, long needles exploded out of the side of the desk, making it look like a bristling porcupine that had gone bald on top.

Harry breathed in sharply as he jumped back. Those needles had nearly blinded him!

"Please do continue your inspection of my office, young wizard. I'm anxious to see what else you discover." The goblin behind the desk grinned viciously.

Harry didn't grin back.

"Kind of you to come pick me up after I lost my job." Bill stood near the desk in the center of the room. "Excellent timing, if I do say so myself. The crowd's a bit large out front." He folded his arms across his chest. A grim gaze met Harry's. Mottled red scars creased his cheek from his brush with Fenrir Greyback less than two weeks prior.

Arthur, dusting himself off, nodded. "Is Fleur here?"

"She's packing her desk." Anger glinted in Bill's eyes.

The goblin, silent during this exchange, explained. "These are uncertain times, We can't trust wizards." He bared sharp teeth in a grimace.

Augusta Longbottom's regal tones directed conversation back to more pertinent topics. "If we could use your floo, then we'll remove our subversive human presence immediately." She sniffed and lifted her chin in the air

Before the goblin could reply, a second goblin entered the room. He slid around the edge of the room before stopping next to the desk by Harry. The goblin sneered at the humans before addressing his superior. "Nagurk, the wizard-aurors have surrounded Gringotts and shut down the outgoing floo network. They're searching for a rogue band of humans with Harry Potter. They apparently had the wits to use goblin name as their portkey password." Sarcasm dripped from his words like venom from a rattlesnake's fangs.

Nagurk barked a guttural chuckle. "Turn these humans over to the ministry. Their problems are their own." He leaned back in his chair and twitched long, pointed ears, a smug smile playing about his lips.

Harry had no intention of allowing anyone to hand him over to the ministry like a lamb to the slaughter. Him or his friends. No matter what Hagrid had said about the security of Gringotts, it was looking like their only option would be to fight their way out. Right into Voldemort's hands.

One battle at a time.

Harry eyed the needles in the desk. Dark brown stains covered the tips. Whether that was dried blood or poison, he didn't want to find out, but he suspected poison. He let his hand drift toward the wand inside his robes. Bill and Arthur did the same. Harry couldn't see behind him, but he had no doubt Augusta and Neville would be readying themselves for battle. Perhaps Madame Malkin was preparing some sharp sewing needles to counteract the desk. Harry smiled at the image of needle fighting needle in a epic sword fight,

Before his fingers touched the smooth wood of his wand, the goblin bearing the bad news clamped his hand Harry's wrist, pulling and twisting at the same time so that Harry ended up face to face with him.

Certain the goblin was about to drag him off, Harry struggled to break his surprisingly strong grip.

"So, Mister Potter, we meet again." The goblin's gravelly voice had an amused tone to it.

"How-" Harry bit off the incriminating word and blood rushed to his face. If the goblin had been guessing who he was, all doubt was gone now.

"Two and two make four, even for a goblin." Angry sarcasm twisted the goblin's deprecating words. "You are the only unknown teenage boy in a group that supposedly includes the Boy-Who-Lived, and you were last seen with Arthur Weasley."

Harry looked closer, wondering who this second goblin was. His voice sounded familiar. He'd only met Griphook and Scrabbleknife before, and he wasn't certain he could tell the difference between the two. The deep scowl lines marking every goblin's face made them difficult to tell apart.

"Scrabbleknife?" He guessed, thinking quickly. Perhaps he could offer the goblins a deal in exchange for their safe passage. Goblins couldn't live in the bank after all, and they'd never depend on the Ministry of Magic for their transportation.

Harry hoped so, anyway.

To Be Continued...


	26. Chapter 25

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

From the last chapter...

"_Scrabbleknife?" Harry guessed, thinking quickly. Perhaps he could offer the goblins a deal in exchange for their safe passage. Goblins couldn't live in the bank after all, and they'd never depend on the Ministry of Magic for their transportation. _

_He hoped so, anyway._

Chapter 25

"The sun hasn't cooked your brains entirely," grunted Scrabbleknife, raising his eyebrows with mock surprise. He took a step back.

Harry twisted his lips wryly. Snape and Scrabbleknife would get along swimmingly. "When we last met," Harry said, ignoring the goblin's slur on his intelligence, "I tried to let the goblin nation know, through you, about muggle society's collapse."

"Only an unobservant wizard would need informing," the goblin said, lips twitching as if he enjoyed insulting Harry.

Harry sat on his temper, years of practice with Snape's insults coming to the fore. "I want to trade safe passage for our party for a piece of information vital to Gringotts and your people."

Harry drew himself up to his full height, crossed his arms, and attempted to look foreboding. _You probably just look constipated. _He mentally stomped on that voice of doubt. Goblins could smell fear and doubt, and would circle in for the kill like a shark scenting blood in the water.

Nagurk stepped around the desk, standing shoulder to shoulder with Scrabbleknife. "I alone in this room have authority to grant that request."

Harry's heart leaped inside him. They had a chance.

"But," the higher ranking goblin continued, "Unless I know your information, I can't place a value on it."

Uncertain, Harry looked behind him. Bill nodded for him to continue. Once Harry had begun negotiations, he had to finish them. That was one thing he'd remembered from Binn's interminable history lessons. But Harry could see worry deepening the creases on Arthur's forehead. If Harry gambled and lost, some of them wouldn't make it home. Not with the goblins ready to hand them over to the ministry, and not with Voldemort on the front steps of the bank persuading the wizarding populace to make him minister.

Harry took a deep breath and turned around. "Do goblins prefer to run Gringotts with, or without, the Ministry of Magic's interference and oversight?"

The two goblins' eyes narrowed simultaneously. The last goblin uprising had been narrowly averted by returning control of Gringotts back to the goblins back in the mid-1800s. The wizarding world had enjoyed continued economic stability as a result, since goblins had no desire to pander to fickle human social causes. They sought stability and the profits derived thereby above all else. "The ministry wouldn't be so foolish," Nagurk growled.

"The _current _ministry," Harry corrected. He stomped on a desire to say more. In this case, more was less. Anything the goblins imagined would be worse than what he could imply without giving the secret away entirely.

"Alrick Armstrong," Nagurk waved a dismissive hand, lip curling with disdain. "His vault's nearly empty, and he comes from a wizarding family of no consequence. He will accomplish nothing if he gets elected."

The beauty of Voldemort's strategy stunned Harry into silence for a moment. By choosing, and probably killing, a nondescript wizard with substandard abilities, he would be accepted by ruling class families as a figurehead, while his charisma would weave a seductive web of lies for the common people. Even the goblins underestimated him.

Until Voldemort exerted his power through force. But by then, it would be too late.

"And that's where my information differs from yours," Harry countered. "I offer you information that will give goblins a chance – just a chance – to avoid subjugation."

Scrabbleknife's hand darted to the sharp, curved dagger hanging in an ornate sheath on his belt. "Subjugate goblins? Never again." His nostrils flared as he took one step forward.

Nagurk blocked his underling."Will humans make war on the only magical race with food?" Nagurk asked, calm reason threading his voice.

Harry paused. He was sure Voldemort would try to conquer all magical races. But saying so would give the game away. "Why should humans trust goblins to feed them? Would you trust humans if we had the only food?"

"No goblin would neglect his food supply," Nagurk replied, generations of disdain for magical humans apparent in the sneer twisting his mouth. He turned away from his guests and examined the chain mail on the wall behind his desk.

Harry bit his tongue as the minutes stretched out. An alliance with goblins, even a temporary one, was fraught with the danger of betrayal. Nagurk had to decide on his own if it was worth his while to free Harry and his company.

Nagurk turned around and let out a guttural growl, a thumped fist on the desk sending the still exposed needles bristling. "Agreed."

Harry let out his breath with a loud a whoosh and wiped damp hands on his robe. Bargaining for his friends' lives was one experience he didn't want to repeat.

Bill stepped forward, slipping between Arthur and Neville to stand by Harry. Augusta Longbottom shifted back toward Madame Malkin with a soft harrumph as she allowed Bill to take her place.

"Fleur, my fiance, will join us." Bill stated, his jaw jutting forward like a bulldog's.

"Yes, yes. Scrabbleknife, see to it." Nagurk said. "Give the girl a...plausible pretext for entering my office with all of her and the young Mr. Weasley's belongings."

Scrabbleknife's eyes gleamed with malicious humor before he turned on his heel and stalked out of the office.

Harry studiously avoided the eyes of his friends. Perhaps they'd had a better idea and he'd stuck his foot in it. Doubts tripped through his mind, tangling with each other till his thoughts were a blur with everything that could still go wrong.

"I 'ave stolen nothing. Nor 'as Bill!" Fleur's voice resonated down the hallway and through the office door. "If zis is 'ow you treat your employees..." Her voice trailed off as she entered the already cramped office. She carried two plain brown briefcases. The way her hands clenched the handles told Harry they carried items more valuable than office files.

"Follow me" Without pausing to allow for an explanation, Nagurk turned on his heel and walked through the section of wall behind his desk covered by chain mail and deadly weapons.

Harry examined the wall and tried to apply Moody's adage of constant vigilance. Knowing the goblins, they might have sharp objects to impale intruders on the opposite wall. Visions of goblins feeding his dead body to their guardian dragons paraded across his mind's eye. He'd best proceed with caution. He'd take one step and then reassess his surroundings.

"Get moving." Scrabbleknife shut the door to the office. "You don't have all day."

Harry looked at Arthur and Bill, who both nodded at him with solemn, unsmiling faces. He slipped around the side of the desk, careful to avoid the poisonous needles, and strode through the wall.

Smack! Harry ran face first into a rough brick wall before his eyes adjusted to the gloominess of the barely lit passageway. He'd been expecting a narrow walkway, not one that he had to shuffle sideways in. He ran his fingers across his face and squinted at them in the flickering torchlight. No dark, wet blood.

Smoke hung heavy in the air, stinging his nostrils as he inhaled sharply. He turned right and hurried off after Nagurk with an awkward, sideways shuffle. He passed intersection after intersection, staircase after staircase. No wonder the offices were so small. They were honeycombed with hidden passageways!

What an excellent way to defend the bank. No one would lean against a wall covered with sharp weapons, and the goblins could quickly retreat if they came under attack.

He glanced backwards and saw his friends following after him. He guessed that the floating torch behind Augusta Longbottom was held by Scrabbleknife bringing up the rear. He couldn't imagine goblins allowing one of their party to peel off and explore their defensive fallbacks.

After traversing multiple halls and steep staircases, Nagurk came to a halt next to a cart on gleaming tracks in much better shape than the ones Harry had used before. He wondered exactly how much upkeep they put into the roller coaster-like tracks the bank customers used. He pictured the bank as a minor, inconvenient side business that goblins put a minimal amount of effort into. He gritted his teeth. Missing humans falling prey to a collapsing track might be explained away as thieves. All humans were thieves to them, he suspected.

Harry clamped his hands onto the edge of the cart, determined to enjoy himself despite their precarious situation. Although there was standing room only, no one seemed anxious to wait for the next cart.

The goblins' taciturn silence spread. No one wanted to ruin their tenuous treaty. The cart slowly gathered speed before plunging into a steep curve. The air around Harry grew cooler and then gradually warmer. As sweat trickled down the side of his face, he loosened the collar of his shirt with one hand. He had a vague memory from years ago of trapped miners on the telly suffering in sweltering heat because they were so deep in the earth. The ministry would never find them.

Just as Harry wished for a cool glass of water, the cart leveled out and shot forward with greater speed. He tried to gauge their speed by the passing shadows in the cave, but they had long ago passed the last of the wizard vaults. No torches lit the way here, and only magic kept the two goblin's torches burning.

After long, interminable minutes, the cart began its ascent. Harry repressed a sigh of relief. The cart slowed to a halt, and he shifted from one foot to the other to help the blood flow back into his feet.

"Before you go any further, you will of course have to sign a contract of non-disclosure." Nagurk said, whipping a self-inking quill and a sheaf of papers out of his topcoat.

"What are we not disclosing?" Arthur asked, examining the tiny print on his contract.

"Everything you've seen from the my office to when you see sunlight again." Nagurk replied, not trace of a smile on his face. "No human beside Albus Dumbledore has seen what you will and lived afterward."

"What are the penalties for non-compliance?" Bill asked.

"Your insides will liquify. It won't cause death immediately, of course, but I hear it can be...unpleasant." Nagurk seemed cheered by the idea.

"A-a-and if we d-d-don't sign it?" Neville asked, the contract shaking in his hand.

Nagurk spread his arms wide. "You will to stay here. No food or water will be provided."

Harry looked around. A dark ravine plunged down on his left side while a narrow ledge jutted out from a smooth cliff face on his right. "Bill?" Harry asked.

Bill flipped the paper over and examined the blank side for tiny, minute writing. "We'll sign, if you take out the fine print requiring the transfer of our vaults over to the goblin nation."

Madam Malkin, silent up to this point, gasped. "Despicable!"

Nagurk's lips spread wide over sharp, yellow teeth. "You'd be surprised at how many humans don't read their contracts."

Bill meticulously crossed out the offending line in each contract. Harry signed his with a flourish. This was one secret he was taking to the grave, one way or another.

* * *

Gawain Robards paced back and forth on the top step of Gringotts, alone. He'd sent the other aurors to surround the bank. He studiously ignored the upstart Armstrong. Less than half an hour had passed since the he had demanded the custody of Harry Potter and his group, with no response. Everyone knew the front doors and windows of Gringotts were the only way out – that was what made the bank secure and defensible - and easily besieged.

He wasn't sure the portkey had landed them in Gringotts, but the portkey password, Ragnok, had been telling. For all he knew, Harry Potter was in there right now inciting a goblin rebellion. Perhaps Rufus had been right to spend the aurors' resources recklessly to bring a teenage boy into custody.

Wizard after witch streamed out the front doors, most with a box or bag under their arm. Goblins firing all human employees did not bode well for their economy. Gringotts was the second largest employer after the ministry itself.

The dim prospect of high unemployment combined with food scarcity consumed his thoughts. He'd had aspirations for minister – what head auror hadn't? But he wasn't sure he wanted it. Not now.

The crowd's chanting caught his attention. "Harry Potter! Harry Potter!"

Was Armstrong casting a mere boy as their savior? He shook his head at the absurdity and continued pacing. Trained aurors were required for that job.

"You-Know-Who will kill the boy at any cost!" Armstrong shouted, his voice a touch hoarse after speaking so long to the crowd. "That insane wizard did this to our society to starve one boy who refused to die!" He spread his arms wide as if to take in the whole of wizarding Britain.

"Whose fault is it you don't have food?"

"Harry Potter! Harry Potter!"

Gawain blinked and examined Alrick Armstrong again. Could this new upstart have cast a befuddlement charm on the entire crowd?

To be continued...


	27. Chapter 26

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

From the last chapter...

"_Whose fault is it you don't have food?"_

"_Harry Potter! Harry Potter!" _

_Gawain blinked and examined Alrick Armstrong again. Could this new upstart have cast a befuddlement charm on the entire crowd?_

Chapter 26

Harry hunched his shoulders as he squeezed his body through the narrow, winding tunnel leading. It couldn't be called a passageway, not for humans. He walked in a crouch, nearly doubled over in two as he made his way to the goblins' home.

Crawling on hands and knees looked mighty attractive at this point, except they still had miles to go. His stomach rumbled loudly.

Nagurk, just in front of Harry, must have heard. He turned his head, "Perhaps the humans would like refreshment before we continue?" The goblin's gravelly voice sounded unusually polite.

"Su-" Harry began to accept but Bill's loud refusal startled him into silence.

Harry tried to half-turn his body to look at Bill behind him, intending to ask what was wrong about having tea with goblins. "What-"

Bill punched Harry in the back of the ankle, interrupting him again. "We have enough for ourselves. Thank you."

Harry wanted to protest. His mouth felt dry as a desert and his stomach as empty as the Grand Canyon. Tea hadn't been a proper lunch, and that was hours ago. Still, if Bill punched him again to quiet him, he'd end up limping wherever they were going in this never-ending cave system.

"Too bad." Scrabbleknife said, his voice floating up to the front of the line. "Harry Potter would have made an excellent servant."

Servant!

"You must pay for everything from goblins, Harry." Bill whispered. "Else you're considered a thief with all appropriate penalties applied."

Harry clamped his mouth shut and ignored the hunger pains in his stomach. This was no worse than working at the Dursleys during the summer, and he wasn't going to be anyone's servant again. He resolved to let Bill do all further negotiating. Why Binns couldn't have imparted such an important piece of knowledge, Harry didn't know. No wonder there'd been so many goblin wars over the years!

Hundreds of plodding footsteps later, the single-file line stopped in front of a cascading waterfall. Perhaps _waterfall _was too grand a name for the spray of water covering the exit from the interminable winding tunnels behind him.

"Drangfor's Unmasking," Nagurk proclaimed. "One of the greatest protections of the goblin nation."

Harry looked closer at the water. It didn't shimmer in the torchlight or cast rainbows across the room. It looked like clear, pure, cool water. He ached to drink from it, but he clenched his fists to hold back the impulse. Defiling something goblins held sacred while stealing their water would surely result in loss of life or limb.

He shuffled through the water, soaking himself to the bone, and bent his head to walk through the chiseled hole in the wall. Grateful to have enough room to stand upright, he stepped to the side in the entryway and stretched his strained shoulder muscles.

A high pitched female scream rang out, and he whipped his head up and around, searching for the threat. Two glowering goblin soldiers advanced toward him, sharp short swords flickering in the torch light. Behind them, a wizened, stooped goblin with long silver hair pointed a shaking hand in his direction. "He blinds me, he blinds me! Evil – he has such evil about him!"

What? Harry fought the foolish urge to look over his shoulder at the entrance, to see if she was actually pointing at Bill's fire-like hair. But he knew better. Why did these things always happen to him? His hands fumbled with his cloak, searching for his wand pocket to defend himself.

Before his fingers closed around his wand, Bill shot past Harry, knocking him into the wall, brandishing his wand and shouting in gobbledygook. Another freckled hand grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him back.

"Let Bill handle this!" Arthur whispered as he knocked Harry's hand away from his cloak. "Don't antagonize them!"

_As if Bill brandishing his wand at them wasn't antagonizing enough,_ Harry grumbled to himself. Still, Bill had worked for them in Egypt and England, and presumably they trusted him. As much as they trusted any human. Harry smiled wryly.

The two goblin warriors grimaced as they re-sheathed their swords upon orders from Nagurk. After a long conversation punctuated with guttural grunts, Nagurk and Bill switched to English.

"You swear you had no knowledge this boy was cursed? And that you were bringing his catastrophic curse down upon the goblin nation by bringing him here?"

"I swear," Bill said, tension humming in his taut muscles.

Now if that charming conversational snippet wasn't enough for a person to develop a _woe is me_ complex, than Harry didn't know what was. Granted, bad things did have a tendency to happen around him. But things turned out well in the end. Mostly. He swallowed hard as he remembered his parents, Dumbledore, Sirius, and Cedric.

The female goblin, the one who'd screamed, stepped closer to Harry, reaching out a shaking finger till she almost touched him. She moved her hands around like she was burrowing them into woven strands of cloth. A black mist encompassed her hands before a shining red light chased it away. As Harry stared at the goblin, mesmerized by the glowing light, a insidious, slimy green ooze trickled down her fingers. The red light and the green ooze swirled together – never combining, neither overpowering the other.

The female goblin abruptly pulled her hands back and flicked them toward the wall next to Harry's face. Flecks of red light mixed with green ooze splattered, hissed, and turned to noxious smoke.

Without a word, she stepped slowly back to Nagurk, reaching into her robes and placing some dried, crumbled leaves on her tongue. She slowly chewed and then spit before wiping her mouth on her sleeve.

After waiting a long moment, Nagurk tapped one foot and asked, "Well?"

The female goblin snarled, "Don't rush the Njarishka! Can you see curses, charms, or spells, you great, burrowing rat?"

Nagurk ground his teeth. "No, Njarishka."

"This child is doubly cursed. Once from before his birth, and once after. In the wee years of his life. The only reason this walking disaster - " she jabbed her hand at Harry, "still lives is a powerful protection spell woven with love that keeps the worst of the damage at bay."

Bill's tone mirrored the confusion Harry felt inside. "What – How - "

The Njarishka glanced at Bill impatiently. "One of his parents was cursed, fool, and passed it on. The second curse is anchored in that child's scar on his forehead." She glanced closer at Harry. "There should be a scar there. A slimy jellyfish with hundreds of questing tentacles are trying to grasp the boy's soul." She bared her teeth, apparently pleased with her metaphor. "But that love spell wraps him in red light and pulses with his heartbeat." She moved closer and covered his heart with her hand. "Hmm. It's weakening. Slowly weakening."

Harry locked his knees to prevent himself from taking a step backward. The goblins would probably take mortal offense at that. The jellyfish curse had to be from Voldemort. The hair rose on the back of his neck as realized the evil that had surrounded him his whole life. The love spell must be the protection from his mother. Who knew what monster he would have become if evil had gained a firm foothold in him? Who knew what he would become if his mother's protection failed?

But he wanted to know about the hereditary curse. "Someone curse one of my parents?"

The Njarishka tapped her foot on the cold floor of the tunnel. "Don't waste my breath by repeating my words, human. Yes, your parent was cursed. Not a grandparent, since the curse should end the hereditary line through catastrophe."

Bill flicked a hand at Harry, gesturing him to silence. "In order for me to remove the curse, I will need to know more about how the curses interact with -"

The female goblin's harsh laugh interrupted him. "Break those curses? You will kill the boy in the process, if you live long enough to try. Your only chance is to have the hereditary curse removed by the caster. "

_Live long enough?_ Bill mouthed the words as he raised his eyebrows.

Nagurk's voice overrode the cackling Njarishka. "Will having him here harm our people?"

The Njarinska stopped laughing, squinted one eye at Harry and motioned for him to turn in a slow circle. "Boy, has anything bad happened to you recently?"

Harry almost laughed out loud. He couldn't even count the bad things that had happened in the past week, from Dumbledore's death, to the EMP problem, to fleeing from the Ministry. And having Voldemort gunning for the minister's slot topped it off. He grimaced as he replied, "Loads."

Arthur and Bill both nodded to confirm Harry's assessment.

She squinted an eye at Harry. "Your luck, does it go in cycles?"

Harry paused for a moment, thinking. "Every year, at the end of the school year, something dreadful happens. But then Dumbledore always sends me -" Harry broke off, realization dawning. As his mother's protection weakened, the curses gained a stronger foothold in him. The incredible string of bad luck he'd had today – running into Voldemort, nearly getting caught by aurors at the Longbottoms and Gringotts, and almost getting impaled by overzealous goblin guards – couldn't be natural. It was like someone had slipped him the opposite of Felix Felicis, the good luck potion.

Perhaps Dumbledore hadn't been a bit barmy about his mother's love and renewing the protection spell she'd cast with her dying breath. He'd sent a sullen Harry home each year to strengthen his mother's spell after it had been weakened by too much time and distance between Harry and his aunt. Or Harry and his aunt's home.

The tapping of a small foot against the stone floor brought Harry back to the present. He cleared his throat. "The bad luck cycles are speeding up," he admitted. He didn't think it necessary to let her know that today had been one of those days. He'd be dead in a heart beat.

The Njarinska blew out her breath and turned back to Nagurk. "We should be safe. His presence may even be a boon to our people. His curse and protections spells are complex, but as the black curse interacts with the evil, jellyfish curse, little tentacles hook into this child's very being, and catastrophic events descend upon him and all around him. But then the protection spell shifts and burns the tentacles of the evil curse, and compensates by bringing greatness and good into his life, and all those around him who survive. I've never seen the intersection of three such powerful spells in my hundreds of years." The Njarinska moved to touch Harry before pulling back her hand abruptly. "For the moment, the red spell has gained ascendancy."

Harry glanced with unseeing eyes at the cave's damp wall. His mother's love was the red spell. The evil, jellyfish curse was no doubt Voldemort's killing curse gone wrong. But that second hereditary curse designed to end the line of James or Lily Potter...maybe that was what had caused the prophecy in the first place. He shook his head. Right now, he had to get home.

Nagurk moved past the guardian goblins. "Move aside and stop wasting my time. We have a bargain."

Harry's feet ached as they walked through tunnel after tunnel, doors smaller than Harry dotting the walls at regular intervals. Gradually the tunnel sloped upward and Harry sighed with relief. They ought to be reaching the surface soon. Hunger gnawed through his stomach and he wished he'd brought his belt along to tighten it.

He stumbled to a halt as a bright sunlight spilled into the corridor as a door swung open in front of him, and two goblins carrying a heavy light fixture between them edged into the hallway. White, heavy-layered gauze covered their eyes.

"Move out of their way, " growled Scrabbleknife from behind. "Do you want to blind us all?"

Harry's back scraped against the wall as he scrambled around the door and stood next to Bill and Fleur. The nearly blind goblins edged out into the corridor and shut the door, though not before Harry noticed the diffuse sunlight flowing through the cave ceiling, falling on vibrantly green plants in tidy rows.

They pulled off their blindfolds and hefted the large series of lights between them. "Pieces of junk, now." One goblin complained.

"They must have used muggle lights to grow their food!" Bill whispered just loud enough for Harry to hear.

"But they have sunlight coming though their cave ceiling." Harry whispered back. "Why switch over to muggle anything when they have magic to provide all the light they need?"

"Harry - sunlight blinds goblins. Even Binns covers that." Bill's voice turned speculative. "That must be why we haven't had any goblin wars since ekkeltricity was invented – they've been growing their own food without having to go blind. That and the Ministry confiscated their wands."

Harry nodded his head. That made sense. Most wars were fought over resources, although he'd bet goblins would make war against magical humans just on principle. From what he could tell, all humans were thieves in their eyes. Perhaps he would find out why someday. "But why don't they use magical light instead?"

Harry started as Nagurk's voice echoed through the tunnel, anger turning it ugly. "Because wizards won't allow goblins to use wands. And we can't create magical lights without them. We can transform metal and rock with our magic, but light slips right through our fingers." The sound of spittle hitting rock reached Harry's ears.

"Then how did you enchant your ceiling to allow sunlight through?" This time the question came from Augusta Longbottom. She sounded as if she were inquiring about the weather, and Harry admired her calm aplomb during this rather trying escape.

"We didn't. Albus Dumbledore did."

Harry almost felt crass as a plan for new negotiations with the goblins took form in his mind, one that could help him defeat Voldemort. Cursed or not, perhaps the Njarishka was right – great things followed the horrible in his life.

To be continued...


	28. Chapter 27

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

From the last chapter...

_Harry almost felt crass as a plan for new negotiations with the goblins took form in his mind, one that could help him defeat Voldemort. Cursed or not, perhaps the Njarishka was right – great things followed the horrible in his life._

Chapter 27

Harry lost count of the number of grow rooms in the sprawling underground cave system. Time after time, Harry saw Nagurk and the Njarishka turning their heads away from doorways as if out of habit. He'd do that too if sunlight caused blindness in humans.

While Harry was sure goblins had used wands against humans in previous wars – else why would the ministry ban them – it still seemed cruel to take away their ability to grow crops. Harry almost stopped in his step as he realized why the goblins were willing, even eager, to sell their food to humans. Once humans ran out of money, goblins would accept farm labor for food. Perhaps floo connections would be established to the growing rooms to keep their location a secret. Humans would be all but enslaved as they worked for food at penurious rates under binding contracts.

He shook his head, troubled. How he wished Ollivander were here! The wandmaker would know if the ministry's action were human-centric and bigoted or if there was a reason he hadn't thought of. He could almost hear Hermione's cautionary voice in his ear, telling him that not all was as it seemed in the magical world.

Harry studied Nagurk in front of him. The steady gait, the raised head with thick hair pulled back tightly in a warrior's knot. From what Harry could tell, their most recent peace with goblins rested on two things: a prosperous income through no ministry interference at Gringotts and their ability to grow their own food. He'd done his best to ensure the first, and maybe he could provide the second.

An idea flickered across his brain like a flash of lightening and excitement flooded through him as an answer occurred to him. _Maybe they could create magical grow lights for the goblins while at the same time learning the secret to it for the manor! Then they could grow food in every room, not just the ones with windows._ His tired muscles became energized at that realization, and he walked with a spring in his step despite his aching feet. He nearly bumped into Nagurk when he stopped suddenly and turned around.

"Harry Potter, we've fulfilled our end of the bargain." Nagurk pointed a bony finger at a rickety ladder leading up to a narrow hole covered by the same brown rock they'd spent hours walking through.

Harry locked eyes with Nagurk, the smaller goblin tilting his head upward at Harry. "I will fulfill my bargain." He didn't want his throat slit by Nagurk's sword before he finished his offer. "But I would like to open negotiations for a second bargain. Assuming you are satisfied with the results of the first."

Nagurk's eyes narrowed and shifted to the Njarishka. She nodded back to him after flicking her eyes up and down Harry's body. Examining the curses, no doubt. If his mother's protection spell hadn't continued containing the other two, he had no doubt Nagurk would throw him and his party out on their collective ears.

"Speak!" Nagurk took a step toward Harry, closing the already small space between them.

Harry crouched down to look Nagurk in the eyes. "This one piece of information, if known ahead of time, will allow you to take action to protect the bank and your people."

"Yes, yes." Nagurk waved Harry's words away. "Don't waste my time, human boy."

There went his effort at diplomacy. Harry shrugged. "Alrick Armstrong is Volde-" He stopped and corrected himself, hoping he was imagining Augusta Longbottom's heated stare on the back of his neck. "Alrick Armstrong is You-Know-Who."

"Scared of a name?" Nagurk sneered.

Harry clenched his hands. "_Looking ahead_ would mean realizing that name will be placed under a Taboo." His voice grew cold. He'd just imparted crucial information, and the goblin was nit-picking about his word choice? "You have days to prepare now. Will you help the goblins remain strong and free?"

Nagurk ignored Harry's speech. "What proof do you have that this country bumpkin is actually Voldemort?"

Harry heard gasps behind him, clothes rustling as people cringed at a word, a collection of letters. Perhaps his friends were even now looking around them to see if Voldemort had sent his thugs. Who knew how fast that demagogue was working? Perhaps even now the most evil wizard of their time had been sworn in by the Wizengamot in an emergency session.

"My scar." Harry pointed at his forehead where the lightning bolt lay hidden. "If I make eye contact with Voldemort, I get a splitting headache centered in my scar."

The Njarishka stepped forward. "Yes." She looked at Harry's forehead. "The evil curse centered in your scar could link you to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." She shot a glare at Nagurk. "_If_ he cursed you when he tried to kill you as an infant." She shivered as if an unseen wind chilled her as she again examined the curses floating around Harry trying to burrow their way through his mother's protection.

Nagurk turned on his heel, placing his back toward Harry. His legs twitched like he wanted to pace, the only sound echoing off the walls coming from their breathing. Harry felt the irrational urge to tell Neville to quiet it down. What could they do at this late stage of their journey? Toss them out? _Or make you slaves, _came the insidious thought.

When Nagurk whirled back around, Harry's whole body tensed. He tried to smooth his face into a calm mask. He had to appear strong for the next round of negotiations.

"The goblin nation thanks Harry Potter for fulfilling his end of the bargain. You and your company may go free."

Despite himself, Harry let out a sigh of relief.

Nagurk's mouth twitched slightly up before he glowered again.

"I have a second offer to make, Nagurk." Harry heard the restless shuffling of his friends behind him.

The goblin raised one eyebrow and waited.

"But first I need to talk with Arthur and Bill." _And everyone else, _Harry added silently. They had no pressing disaster threatening them this time that required immediate action. After the goblin nodded his approval, Harry turned around. Bill held Fleur's hand tightly, tension tightening the muscles of his free arm into ridged cords.

Harry motioned everyone to move closer in the small confines of the tunnel. "Before You-Know-Who can be vanquished, I have to find several items. At least one might be guarded in Gringotts." He hoped that description made it sound like he was searching for a magical weapon to use in fighting against Voldemort, like Merlin's staff. He didn't like so many people knowing even this. Voldemort, no doubt paranoid, would guess Harry's purpose even from these few words. He decided he would encourage Madame Malkin, whom he hardly knew, to take a supporting role in the war and stay in Potter Manor for the duration.

"Is that what your meetings with Dumbledore were about last year?" Neville asked as he shifted his weight from one sore foot to the other.

Surprised, Harry nodded. He'd thought he'd camouflaged those meetings with studying and time with Ginny.

"What do you want to trade for access to those items, Harry?" Arthur asked, cutting to the core problem.

"I thought we could send some of us in to cast light charms as needed." Harry worked to keep his voice at a whisper even as excitement honed it to a sharp edge. "We could learn their charms for magical grow lights and use them at the manor."

Arthur shook his head. "That's no good. We'd be their slaves for the rest of our lives, at their beck and call every time the charm died out. That could be as often as every day."

Harry let his breath out in a whoosh. This was still their best option for finding a horcrux hidden in Gringotts. Voldemort would be foolish to pass up the most secure storage place in the magical world. But the price was high. Higher than he could ask of them. He opened his mouth to volunteer, but closed it again as Arthur began speaking.

"Oh, what an excellent idea if I do say so myself! Why didn't I see it before?" Arthur rocked back and forth on his feet, eyes fixed on the wall behind Harry's head.

"See what?" Harry leaned forward.

"Wendell Ollivander, of course!" Infectious excitement danced in Arthur's eyes.

Harry grinned. "How does our wandmaker -" Harry stopped and almost laughed out loud in delight. Ollivander could make the goblins wands!

Augusta's dry tones dampened the good humor. "You may want to consider the ministry may have had a reason to ban wands from goblins. Endless goblin wars and dead wizards by the score."

That drew Harry up short. Perhaps goblins raised food underground with magic centuries ago, but their never-ending wars with humans finally ended in their magical subjugation. They kept their innate magic, but had to watch their fellow goblins go blind as their power to both feed themselves and make magical war on humans was stripped from them.

Augusta Longbottom had a point.

Fleur's lilting voice rang through the stillness. "'Ave you considered a single-purpose wand? Many wands made from Veela hair are suitable for ze one purpose it was made for."

Harry shot a quick glance at her. _Why would anyone want a single-purpose wand?_

She must have seen his questioning look. "Ze single-purpose wand is very focused. Very good for zat one purpose."

Perfect. Harry looked around their group. Everyone nodded their agreement. Harry grinned and raised an eyebrow at Bill, pointing his chin at where the goblins stood. He'd had enough high-stakes negotiation for today. He'd just make sure that Bill made it clear these wands wouldn't be capable of concentrating light into lasers. The last thing he needed to do was give the goblin nation another weapon when they looked down on all humans as thieves dishonoring their race.

"Would you, as a representative of the goblin nation, be willing to negotiate another mutually beneficial trade?" With those words, Bill began haggling for their future ability to fight the war against Voldemort.

The attraction of feeding their families without going blind kept bringing the goblins back to the negotiations, but one insurmountable obstacle kept them from agreeing.

"What you ask – stealing from our customers whose belongings we have sworn to protect - would bring shame upon the entire goblin nation," the Njarishka said, her long silver hair almost bristling with agitation.

"I offer the goblin nation a way to feed itself without causing its children to go blind." Bill didn't miss a beat as he replied.

The quick murmur of voices behind him was stilled by a harsh whisper from Neville's grandmother. Harry repressed an urge to smile.

No reply met him this time. Harry ran through several persuasive arguments in his head. The goblin nation reminded him of how Japanese people placed an emphasis on familial and national honor. He was asking these goblins – and any others involved – to shame themselves in the eyes of their brethren.

Harry parted his dry lips and spoke for the first time as he hoped that adding information wouldn't be considered entering the negotiations themselves. Bill wouldn't know they could destroy a horcrux in Gringotts if they had time. "If possible, these items would not be removed from the actual vault, and the item itself would not be damaged." Harry hoped. Maybe Hermione could create a solution of basilisk venom that wouldn't destroy the suspected horcruxes. If they could get their hands on more venom.

This met with the goblins' approval. Theft had been downgraded into an unauthorized visitor to a vault. But then suspicion narrowed both goblins eyes. "And you would accomplish this feat of agriculture how?" Disdain dripped from the Njarishka's voice.

Here Bill played their final card. "I would ask a wandmaker to create single-use wands that would cast light for only beneficial purposes." And if Ollivander couldn't do that, they would create weak wands that wouldn't harm humans. The last thing they needed to live with was enabling another goblin war that could decimate magical society for centuries.

Nagurk turned his head to the side and spit at Bill's feet. "Agreed. _If_ we can grow our own food, we will allow you access to touch the desired item in a vault. But you will remove nothing." He thundered out the last word.

Nagurk bared his teeth in a sharp-toothed smile, and Bill and Nagurk began haggling over the fine details in their agreement.

With the danger finally past, Harry's muscles relaxed and he noticed details he'd pushed to the side. A parched mouth, a gaping hole where his stomach should be, and his sweat-encrusted body. He wanted water, food, and a bath, in that order. Then he could figure out how to recharge his mother's protection spell without killing himself in the process.

To be continued...


	29. Chapter 28

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

From the last chapter...

_Nagurk bared his teeth in a sharp-toothed smile, and Bill and Nagurk began haggling over the fine details in their agreement._

_With the danger finally past, Harry's muscles relaxed and he noticed details he'd pushed to the side. A parched mouth, a gaping hole where his stomach should be, and his sweat-encrusted body. He wanted water, food, and a bath, in that order. Then he could figure out how to recharge his mother's protection spell without killing himself in the process._

Chapter 28

"You did what, Mr. Potter?" Minerva McGonagall fixed a gimlet eye on him, her voice echoing around the newly clean dining room of Potter Manor. They'd met the new headmistress upon their successful return from the goblin nation that evening in order to finalize Hogwart's evacuation details.

Harry hid a smile, lest his stern teacher think him unrepentant. Which he was, but she didn't need to know that. As if hexing Voldemort with an experimental spell wasn't as bad as Minerva dosing her students and staff with veritaserum! He was grateful the headmistress had invited each person to tea and ascertained their loyalties, dreams, aspirations, and everything down to the whether or not they painted their toenails.

After Snape, no one could be presumed loyal.

Harry's eyes lingered on the empty dinner plate in front of him. The nutty flavor with a hint of creamy texture in the pancakes meant Molly substituted the chestnuts for acorns. Fresh wild strawberry compote topping the pancakes helped subdue his growing sugar cravings, but not much.

He breathed deeply and looked Minerva straight in the eyes. "I did my best to hobble Tom Riddle since we can't kill him yet."

Minerva looked at him for a long moment and raised one eyebrow. "And why not, Mr. Potter?"

_She didn't know. _Harry glanced around the crowded room. Too many people to share the horcrux secret with, although none of the Hogwarts staff and students had moved in. The students were still locked in their towers while the staff frantically took down portraits and piled their protesting occupants in spare rooms to prepare for the transfer in utter secrecy.

He'd hated it when Dumbledore kept him in the dark, and he would need Minerva's help to make sure every object was removed from the castle. Tom Riddle's horcrux could be in anything. _But what about the paintings? What if they're a horcrux? _Harry couldn't accept them here. Perhaps Flitwick could examine the portraits for dark magic.

He needed to talk with Minerva alone. Perhaps Arthur as well, since he'd been remarkably resourceful over the past week. Draining the well-stocked Longbottom pond had been a stroke of genius that delighted everyone, not just John. Cod, carp, salmon, trout and catfish would grace their table often now without the risk of ocean fishing.

Harry glanced back down at the table in front of him. After a long day with increasingly bad luck, all he wanted to do was lay his head down and fall into a dreamless sleep. The long, mahogany table separating him and Minerva looked more and more attractive as he realized the long meeting still ahead of him.

Arthur agreed to meet with Harry, but before Minerva would stay she extracted a promise from Harry to never inflict the forgetting disease on anyone else. As if he would go around cursing people willy-nilly! But the lingering horror in her eyes convinced Harry that she needed his reassurance.

"I wouldn't use _aresto -_" Harry stopped when Minerva put up a restraining hand.

"Don't tell us! It would be better if that spell never saw the light of day."

_It already has, _Harry felt like grumbling, but when he spoke he kept his voice even and polite. "All we know for sure is that the spell causes a light breeze."

"You, Harry Potter, have remarkable luck when fighting Tom Riddle." They had decided to use Voldemort's childhood name to avoid the Taboo. Minerva stood up and began motioning everyone out. "I think we can assume your spell does everything you want and more."

Harry debated again with himself about whether to include her in his horcrux hunt. Chances were great Tom Riddle hid a horcrux in Hogwarts when he interviewed for the defense position. And he suspected Minerva hadn't touched the piles of junk in the Room of Hidden Things or the Chamber of Secrets.

If he included her, though, he may lose control of the search. While having an adult in charge might be easier, adults hadn't excelled at finishing this war so far. _Of course_, he forced himself to be honest, _half-trained teenagers might not do that well either_.

In the end, he decided to include her due to one fact: they might very well need the basilisk fangs left in the Chamber. He knew from painful experience that it worked on horcruxes. He couldn't waltz into Hogwarts with a Britain-wide manhunt for him since the ministry surely had all entry points to Hogwarts under surveillance.

After everyone filed out of the room - most under protest - Harry turned back to Minerva and looked closer. Her pinched face looked worn and haggard. Sorrow etched new lines on her face, lines that Harry suspected were due to the loss of her home as well as their headmaster. She'd pulled out her walking stick from the year before and leaned on it now that only Harry and Arthur remained.

Concern must have been evident on his face, since McGonagall waved a dismissive hand and said, "Not to worry, Mr. Potter. I've just had little sleep these past few nights."

That she'd had little sleep, Harry was sure. But preparing Hogwarts for lockdown and leaving her long-time home must be wearing on her as well.

Instead of voicing his concern though, he gestured at the one room free from dust in the house. "While not as big as Hogwarts, this house should serve well." The words came out stilted and formal, and as awkward as Harry felt.

The headmistress's face softened with a smile as she looked past Harry. "Now that I'm back in the manor, I can remember many happy evenings spent here with your grandparents. It will indeed suit most admirably."

Harry pushed down an urge to ask her everything she remembered about his family. "Perhaps when things settle down I could hear more." Harry promised himself he would record whatever she had to say. Surely the magical world had something equivalent to muggle tape recorders.

"Yes, indeed." McGonagall looked as if she would much rather reminisce about days gone by than get down to the hopeless task of both stopping Voldemort and feeding as much of the wizarding world as possible.

By an unspoken agreement, the headmistress finished updating them on her preparations for moving. Hundreds of letters informing parents of the closure were ready for delivery by the school owls. All of the staff were working around the clock to pack delicate magical items that couldn't be trusted to house elves, with the exception of Horace Slughorn. He'd retreated to an unknown location for the summer, and Harry was just as glad to hear that. After learning that he'd hid for years his knowledge of Tom Riddle's interest in horcruxes, Harry didn't trust him. Slughorn had himself as his number one priority. Perhaps when Hermione and Flitwick managed to replicate Dumbledore's loyalty clock, they should add "self" as an option.

He made a mental note to ask Hermione about creating it tomorrow. Time was still of the essence. Harry felt like the crocodile in Peter Pan who'd swallowed a clock. Tick tock, tick tock. Time moved too fast.

While Hogwarts didn't grow its own food, Hagrid raised chickens and grew hundreds of pumpkins for the Halloween festivities. Each of those were transplanted into holding containers and ready for delivery. Madame Sprout was feverishly researching ways to transport the greenhouses with all their contents as well.

All but the contents of one greenhouse, that is. Nearly a year ago Severus Snape planted an entire greenhouse with wormwood, asphodel, valerian root, and sopophorous bean. Although the herbology teacher sputtered in protest at the waste of precious space, Albus Dumbledore quietly supported the project with the simple statement that the ingredients would be needed.

Snape stripped that greenhouse in the week prior to Albus's death, and he must have spent his free time that last week chopping, dicing, and stirring nearly the entire night, every night. He made only one potion. The draught of living death. The potion that had allowed wizards and witches to hibernate through long periods of drought and famine in years long past.

Harry sat back in his chair upon hearing that, his breath stolen away. In his head he once again replayed his last memories of Snape. Dumbledore's death and his desperate, hopeless duel with his teacher. Instead of the rage and anger, though, he remembered the neutral perspective of magic itself just yesterday. Perhaps -

He quickly squashed the misguided thought before it fully formed. No, Snape must have taken the potion for the death eaters. "Perhaps Snape delivered the potion to his real master before he killed Professor Dumbledore?"

McGonagall shook her head. "I thought the same myself. Professor Snape left hundreds of bottles in his rooms, each with a single dose of the draught. Enough for all of Hogwarts' students and their families." A gleam entered Minerva's eye. "Madame Pomfrey took his meticulous note with the proper dosages as a professional insult."

Harry smiled upon hearing that. He could picture the healer puffed up with injured pride at the slur upon her professional expertise. But then he sobered. "He could have poisoned them." He was sure their potions teacher had day-dreamed about that a time or two at least.

But Minerva shook her head.. "We found no poison after testing thoroughly."

Harry deflated. The mystery of the inexplicable potions master weighed on him. "Then maybe he made enough to give to all of the death eater's families?"

The headmistress with sympathy shot down his final attempt at vilifying Snape. "Madame Sprout knew down to the plant how much she'd grown in the greenhouse, and it was just enough to account for the potion left in Snape's quarters. He didn't take a single bottle, even for himself.

A troubling nausea roiled in his stomach. Perhaps the eggs had been off. There couldn't be many more of them, after all. They must be getting old. _No_, _that's not it, _a tiny voice whispered in his mind_, you just can't be wrong about Snape. He's evil, after all, and you're good._

He shook off the small, nagging voice. He'd deal with it later. Much later. It was time to address the horcruxes. "Arthur?" He asked.

Surprised, Arthur turned his chair fully toward him, head tilted questioningly.

"Can you close off this room entirely, even to extendable ears?" He raised his voice on the last two words, and smiled at the resulting grumbling from the hallway. Neither Ron or Hermione would be listening in. They knew he'd thought about sharing their horcrux hunt. Hermione had been supportive, with Ron rather grudgingly so. He suspected his friend had well-hidden dreams of fame and glory after the three single-handedly beat Tom Riddle. But both agreed that the loss of electricity in the muggle world changed everything, including this.

Arthur's eyes gleamed with humor as he nodded. Each entry to the dining room had to be warded – doors and windows – as well as all holes in the walls. Thankfully, these walls were stone, precluding easy listening holes in the wall. Still, Harry searched behind each tapestry and investigated every dark spot on the floor, ceiling, and walls.

Minerva watched the proceedings without saying a word. Her lips, pressed in a tight line, betrayed her tension. Any secret requiring extensive warding could only be more bad news in the string of bad news she'd received over the last few days.

Satisfied with the security of the room – he'd carefully searched the doorway for the peach colored string of an extendable ear despite Arthur's assurances – Harry settled himself in his chair. Both Arthur and Minerva placed their hands tightly over the arms of their chairs, as if they were patients in a doctor's office bracing themselves for bad news.

Bad news, indeed.

"As you may know, Professor Dumbledore gave me special lessons last year." Harry was surprised when Arthur nodded his head and waited for him to go on. Perhaps Ron wrote home more than he thought.

"They weren't training lessons, though," he continued. "Instead, he gave me deep background on Tom Riddle."

At this, Minerva's eyebrows rose, but she waved her hand in a gesture for him to continue.

"The night he died -" Harry stumbled and stopped, memories of the cave and his mentor pleading piteously for Harry's help flashing through his mind. Somehow, he soldiered on, his eyes focused only on his memory. He described in detail the possible horcruxes Voldemort had created, eliciting a shocked gasp from his audience.

Apparently, prolonging one's life by such an evil manner was beyond taboo in the magical society. Of course, society wouldn't last long if everyone went around killing others in an attempt to make themselves immortal. Not to mention the insanity that went along with splitting one's soul too many times.

He concluded by sharing his suspicions that at least one of the horcruxes would be at Hogwarts, and his fear that by locking down Hogwarts without retrieving it, they'd be doing half the work for Voldemort themselves.

Minerva sat in thoughtful silence for a moment, tapping her fingers in a slow beat on the table. Arthur passed a hand over his face, suddenly looking haggard. "The dark object we retrieved from Grimmuald place?"

Harry fought the temptation to answer that there had been many dark objects at Grimmuald. No, he knew Arthur was referring to the locket that emanated evil. Thankfully, it was still carefully stored away underneath heavy wards.

"I suspect it's a horcrux." He answered instead. He pulled out R.A.B.'s locket. "Sirius's brother, Regulus, may have switched the lockets and died in the effort. We'll know once we stab it with a basilisk fang." His throat closed up. What a waste. Dumbledore died for nothing when the locket was in the Order's headquarters the whole time.

"What other objects did Dumbledore think Riddle made into horcruxes?" Minerva looked as if she were asking Harry a transfiguration question in class if one overlooked the slight pallor to her skin.

Harry admired her calm aplomb. He knew he'd been horrified when he'd heard about Tom Riddle's use of such evil items in a bid for eternal life. "His diary, which I destroyed second year. The Gaunt ring, which the headmaster dealt with. Helga Hufflepuff's cup. Nagini. And possibly something of Gryffindor or Ravenclaw."

"Why not one of both?" Minerva's face had finally taken on a troubled aspect, as if, after the whole discussion of horcruxes, only now had a horrifying thought occurred to her.

"Because in Professor Slughorn's memory, Riddle asked about tearing his soul into seven pieces." Harry reminded her.

Minerva thought for several long minutes before standing, suddenly in a terrible hurry. "I must access Albus's personal library. That I haven't packed, due to regular Ministry floo calls. They're convinced Hogwarts has a greater stash of food than I've admitted to. While that may be true," she smiled wryly, "it's certainly not enough to feed Britain's magical population even one meal. Unfortunately."

"Uh. Professor?" Harry shuffled his feet under the table, feeling like a naughty schoolboy about to confess to a prank.

Minerva's gaze sharpened, years of such confessions honing her ears. She crossed her arms and asked, "Yes?"

That made it worse. Sweat popped out on his forehead. He'd never snitched before, let alone on a friend, although he was sure Hermione would do the same in this situation, so Harry barreled on. "Hermione summoned all of Dumbledore's books on horcruxes after the funeral." The words tumbled out of his mouth so fast that he doubted his teacher could make sense of the jumble. He glanced up from under his fringe to gauge her reaction. She'd understood all right. Her mouth pinching in just that manner always boded ill for a student.

Instead of verbally excoriating him as he'd fully expected, the headmistress sat down slowly again. She opened her mouth to speak, closed it, pursed her lips once more, and then spoke. "Excellent foresight on Ms. Granger's part. I must not have noticed the gaps in the bookshelf in the recent chaos. I will visit her before I leave."

Harry stared at her, mouth sagging.

"Come now, Mr. Potter. We are not professor and student any more, and while what Ms. Granger did was technically theft, she was trying to fulfill the Headmaster's charge to you. And they were his books." She sighed. "I appreciate your openness, Mr. Potter. I'm afraid I must be forthright with you as well, although I'm not sure if it's for the best."

Foreboding gripped Harry, and part of him wanted to leave. Let other people hear the hard things. He gripped the edge of the table so hard his fingers ached. He forced his jaw to unclench. This was what he wanted, after all. Adults including him and being honest. Partnership.

"Your scar." She paused, gathering her thoughts. "It acts like no other scar I've seen or heard of before. A simple scar shouldn't allow you to see inside another wizard's mind. It shouldn't create a conduit – a connection if you will – between you and another person."

Harry and Arthur shared a long look and then Arthur gave an edited version of what the Njarishka had said about the curses and protection spell surrounding him. Arthur's smooth description didn't give a hint of the goblin nation's homeland. He made it instead sound as if they ran into the Njarishka in Gringotts itself. If Minerva noted the unlikelihood of running into a female goblin in the bank, she said nothing.

Minerva's concerns about his scar hard on the heels of their discussion of multiple horcruxes did not sit well. He rubbed his scar hard, as if he could rub it and the curse it anchored off his forehead entirely. For a moment, he hated it like he'd never hated a part of himself before. What if part of _him_ had kept an evil, murdering maniac alive?

His gorge rose, and Harry was almost thankful for the distraction. Swallowing deeply and closing his eyes, Harry focused on his breathing. In. Out. In. Out.

He opened his eyes to find both Arthur and Minerva leaning over the table, concern shadowing their faces. He forced a wan smile. "I'd much rather know if he put a horcrux in me. Or tried to, anyway."

The skin around Minerva's eyes relaxed slightly, the only sign of her relief. "As would I, Mr. Potter, as would I. Do you know what this means?"

Harry knew. He'd been valiantly squelching the topic in his mind the entire evening. "I need to renew my mother's protection. I have to go back to the Dursleys."

To be continued...


	30. Chapter 29

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

In the last chapter...

_Harry opened his eyes to find both Arthur and Minerva leaning over the table, concern shadowing their faces. He forced a wan smile. "I'd much rather know if he put a horcrux in me. Or tried to, anyway."_

_The skin around Minerva's eyes relaxed slightly, the only sign of her relief. "As would I, Mr. Potter, as would I. Do you know what this means?"_

_Harry knew. He'd been valiantly squelching the topic in his mind the entire evening. "I need to renew my mother's protection. I have to go back to the Dursleys."_

Chapter 29

Harry hefted a mirror into place against the back wall of the ballroom, squinting against the reflected morning sunlight stinging his bleary eyes. John, holding the other side of the long mirror, nodded a go-ahead to Ron. Taking careful aim, Ron shot several permanent sticking charms at the wall.

Why they weren't using magic to move the mirrors, Harry didn't know. He suspected, though, that John took one look at Harry's wan face and decided some hard physical labor would fix what ailed him. Harry didn't mind. After a night of restless dreaming about his scar-based horcrux growing tendrils that strangled him, he needed the distraction. And returning to the Dursley's house to sleep, beginning tonight, was enough to produce unease in the hardiest of men.

Harry didn't like relying on the fact that no one expected him to return there for his main protection in the magically-monitored house. At least the Dursleys didn't actually have to be there for the spell to recharge, since it was still his Aunt Petunia's home, and his invitation to live there had never been revoked. Although he guessed that if given a choice right now, the Dursleys would boot him from their lives forever with glee.

"Why are we using mirrors instead of magical lighting?" Ron asked as he pointed his wand at the next mirror John and Harry held in place.

_Excellent question,_ Harry thought, struggling to keep his breathing even as his muscles strained under the heavy load.

John listed his answers off with exaggerated patience that told Harry the answer should have been obvious. "Number one, we don't have the goblins' spells yet. Ollivander will most likely take weeks to craft those wands. Number two, we don't know which part of the light spectrum the goblins will take out and how that will affect plants. And number three, let's not experiment when our lives hang in the balance."

"Good point," Harry grunted as he lifted another mirror with a massive hardwood frame.

As the three men attached mirror after mirror to the broad walls and ceiling, Harry's thoughts returned to last night.

Professor McGonagall had left to return to Hogwarts, but not without first receiving instructions on how to get into the Chamber of Secrets as well as the Room of Hidden Things, a place that could be found in the Room of Requirement.

He perked up a bit at the memory of his teacher practicing parseltongue when all she could hear were hisses. After she'd managed to mimic "open," she'd retreated quickly, murmuring out loud to herself about how the Chamber should have been cleaned out years ago. She would also inquire of Flitwick if anything of Rowena Ravenclaw's had gone missing. Gryffindor's artifacts were all accounted for, although she would verify their authenticity.

Harry nearly laughed as he remembered his strict teacher calling Albus Dumbledore a secretive old goat. No doubt she thought Albus should have confided in her. She was perfectly capable of inquiring about items of the founders in her role as deputy headmistress. Inquiring now would require a delicate touch to avoid arousing suspicion, but still possible under the guise of securing the heirlooms in their new home before the lockdown.

"Your aim's abysmal." John snapped, surprising Harry out of his memories. Ron's aim wasn't any worse than any other sixth year's, and better than some.

"I hit the mirror, though. That's what counts." Ron said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, wand still clasped in his hand.

"Here, yes." John agreed. "Why do you think I'm having you practice this spell, then?"

Ron shrugged, exchanging quizzical glances with Harry. "We're lining everything with mirrors to reflect the sunlight. You know, for the plants."

"Yes, yes," John said impatiently. "But think beyond that. What's the tactical advantage of a permanent sticking charm?"

Tactical advantage. Oh.

"Blimey, but that's cruel!" Ron said, astonishment coloring his tone. "Whoever you hit with it will be stuck forever!"

"Not forever," John corrected. "Once the wizard or witch cuts away a few inches of whatever they're stuck to, they can move again. Maybe not easily, but we are fighting a war, are we not?"

"Hey. do you mean they could have just carved Sirius's mum's portrait out of the wall?" Harry interrupted as he and John grabbed another mirror from the pile.

"No," Ron shook his head. "That was a load bearing wall. His mum was just evil enough to want the whole house to come down if her family got rid of her portrait. Meddling old hag."

This time, Ron took careful aim at each corner of the mirror, putting forth more effort for battle training than for plants, but without a noticeable difference.

John watched Ron clench his fists. "Aiming a wand is an athletic skill, much like shooting a gun. Didn't Hogwarts teach accuracy exercises?"

"Accuracy what?" Ron asked, finally looking back at Harry and John.

"i'll show you after we finish putting the mirrors on the ceiling." John replied. "I'm sure Hermione knows a suitable spell, and if not, she'll adapt one."

Harry smiled. He'd been too busy to practice controlling his new wand. As much as his he appreciated the opportunity to work on his physique, he doubted Tom Riddle would faint at the sight of his bulging bicepts.

* * *

"Where did you get all the mirrors?" Hermione craned her neck up and around before shading her eyes. "It's bright."

"The basement storage rooms." Ron puffed his chest out. John had been ecstatic at their find, with Ron the hero of the hour. The mirrors, enough to completely cover the ballroom walls and ceiling, would reflect sunlight to all sides of each plant, greatly increasing their harvest.

"I wonder why Harry's family kept them all." Hermione said as she ran a finger along a mirror frame inlaid with gold and silver vines.

"You should see the mess in the basement." Ron gestured widely to encompass the entire cliff. "I don't think they threw away anything, and some of the closets' expansion charms failed."

Hermione winced in sympathy.

"That's good for us, though." John said. "It seems that when they ran out of storage space, they carved another room with closets and expansion charms further back underneath the cliff. The basement is an absolute maze."

"A maze full of mothballed clothes," Ron said.

John nodded his head in acknowledgment. "Let's get this soil laid down. We're dreadfully behind on the growing season."

Hours later, as Harry patted the soil around the base of the last lamb's quarter, he leaned back on his heals and surveyed their day's work with satisfaction. The entire front strip of the ballroom was filled with transplants from the forest. From purslane to lambs quarters to wild onions, they'd soon be growing their own food.

Harry stepped on the hardened soil forming a makeshift pathway around the room. He had no desire to sink his leg into the 4 foot deep layer of loose, loamy soil they'd pulled out of their bags.

John's face wore a thoughtful expression as he examined a white worm in his hand. "Can you cast a spell summoning slugs or nematodes like you did the chestnuts?"

For a moment Harry exchanged a panicked glance with Hermione as she put down the arithmancy book she'd been studying. John wasn't suppose to know that Harry, not Ollivander, had cast that unusual spell.

When they didn't respond, John looked up. "I seem to recall Hermione telling me something about summoning a broom during a tournament. Surely they teach you a spell like that at Hogwarts." He prodded.

Harry and Hermione relaxed.

"Of course. The _accio_ spell." Hermione answered. "It's rather limited. We'd have to create a grid in order to make sure we cleaned out the whole area."

"Does this spell require accuracy?" John's voice held a hint of a smile.

"Only if we want to make sure we clean the whole room out." Hermione replied.

"Perfect."

Harry and Ron groaned in unison. He and Ron would be spending hours working on their aim while pulling noxious bugs from the ground. Hermione had already been enlisted by McGonagall to research Harry's curses and create the loyalty and imperius clocks.

They'd been lucky to tear her away from the library, although she tucked under her arm the Longbottom's book, _Hidden Secrets of Arithmancy and How to Use Them. _She'd nearly danced in a circle when she found the battered tome Arthur had preserved just before they'd portkeyed out of Neville's house. She was sure it would cut months off their research time. Months they didn't have to spare.

"And what will we do with the slugs?" Ron turned a delicate shade of green at the thought of removing hundreds of slugs from their newly created greenhouse. No doubt he remembered vomiting them for hours second year.

"Feed them to the chickens, of course." John's casual response stunned Harry.

"Chickens? But we don't have chickens! Not yet!" Harry protested, turning toward John in surprise.

John grinned. "Then where have all those eggs you've been eating come from? Did Molly steal them from the local farm?"

"I just thought Mrs. Weasley had a lot of eggs on hand."

"She does. And a lot of chickens."

"But where?" Harry turned around, almost expecting a chicken to start clucking at him.

Hermione laughed and pulled a quill out from her pulled-back hair to take notes on a discovery in her book. "Fleur gave Mrs. Weasley a magical chicken coop for Christmas. Ostensibly because the coop collects both the chicken manure and the eggs for you, but they also have soundproof spells. I think she was tired of loosing her beauty sleep to the crowing at four in the morning."

"Tell me about it, that coop was the best thing we've ever been given." Ron agreed fervently. "And it's shrinkable - don't ask me how. It's in one of the trunks."

"Excellent," Harry agreed. Now if they could only find some cheese for those eggs, he'd be happy. Cheese and real milk.

Hours later, full from a meal of fish and eggs sprinkled with greens, Harry rolled his sore shoulders and checked his pockets to make sure his wand and invisibility cloak were secure.

"Are you ready, Harry Potter, sir?" Dobby bounced up and down on his feet, beaming with happiness at the opportunity to help this wizard. They'd decided to wink Harry in and out of the Dursleys, and only Dobby would do since he'd visited #4 Privet Drive the summer before second year. Even house elves had to know where they were winking to. In preparation, the excitable house elf had done careful reconnaissance this afternoon and had visited each room in the house. The ministry hadn't caught Dobby's trips before, and their magical surveillance had overlooked it this time. Traveling by winking was unheard of for wizards due to its rather unpleasant side-effects.

"Here, Harry. Take these." Fred and George had unearthed themselves from their makeshift laboratory to see him off. "You'll need them." For once the twins didn't smile.

"Thanks." Harry shoved the handful of Puking Pastilles into his pocked and the twins quickly retreated. They'd been tasked with weapons research and development, an area they found entirely unfunny.

Harry took a deep breath. "Let's go."

Dobby closed a small hand around his wrist, and Harry's insides twisted for one never-ending moment. When he finally opened his eyes, he leaned his woozy head against the wall for support and rifled through his pockets to find the sweets he tossed in there.

He raised the candy close to his eyes, trying to identify the right half of the candy in the near-darkness. The last thing he needed was to eat the side that would amplify his nausea and make him throw up. He'd be stuck with no way to clean the vomit up for the entire night. With not enough light to even make a guess, he silently kneeled and wove his arm through the wooden mop and broom handles near the crack of light coming from under the door to get a better look as his stomach whirled, tumbled, and rebelled loudly. Swallowing, he just managed to keep his dinner down.

Finally he located the red end of the candy. Red for stop, green for go. Next time, he was only going to bring the red halves of the pastilles. He couldn't afford to puke all over his hideout, not to retching might alert anyone in the house to his presence.

As his stomach calmed down, he whispered an almost inaudible good night to Dobby and curled up in a ball under his invisibility cloak in the familiar dark of the cupboard under the stairs.

To be continued...


	31. Chapter 30

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

From the last chapter...

_As Harry's stomach calmed down, he whispered an almost inaudible good night to Dobby and curled up in a ball under his invisibility cloak in the familiar dark of the cupboard under the stairs. _

Chapter 30

Wispy spider legs creeping across Harry's face woke him the next morning. He froze, memories of waking up this way juxtaposed with his memories of Hogwarts and magic. As the disorientation of sleep fled his foggy brain, Harry brushed the spider off, sat up and felt around his small closet. The only place he could call his own when he was little. His questing fingers found two plastic soldiers, each missing an arm or a leg. His hand moved next to a scrap of a blanket, threadbare and ragged from years of use, wadded up in the far corner under the stairs. He tucked it in his pocket. He was sure it was the same blanket Hagrid had wrapped him in when he retrieved Harry from Godric's Hollow.

The sound of crunching glass underfoot drew Harry up short. He glanced up sharply and found Dobby's eyes open, his green eyes reflecting the small amount of light entering under the closet door. He'd stood watch all night guarding over Harry's sleeping form, ready to wink him away at a moment's notice.

This time Harry wrapped an arm around Dobby's slender wrist and squeezed it. Dobby nodded back and winked Harry back to the empty room where the Potter guest book perched on the podium.

Next time, Harry was going to have his puking pastille ready before winking. All thoughts of the intruder – someone probably searching for food - in the Dursley's house fled his mind during his attempt to calm his rebellious stomach. No wonder no one used winking to travel! Harry swallowed and then swallowed again, relief spreading through him as the pastille did its work. His entire startup investment in the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes had just been returned five-fold.

Harry went in search of Ollivander. They'd kept quiet about the negotiations at the meeting last night, so how to tell him without hinting at where the goblins lived and liquifying his insides?

He found Ollivander in the mirror room, running his hand up and down the bark of an orange tree. An orange tree with lots of roots on top of the dirt, not in it. Ollivander's eyes closed and he cocked his head to the side, listening to something Harry couldn't hear. His hand slowed, and one root shivered and slipped beneath the soil like an eel diving through water.

One by one, the roots disappeared from sight as Harry watched. Once the tree laden with heavy oranges was secure in its new home, Ollivander pulled out a handkerchief and wiped away the sweat beading his brow. Without looking at Harry he said, "I've learned a few tricks throughout the years."

"I'll say." Harry said. No doubt Ollivander's dryad mother had taught him that one.

Before he had the chance to ask Ollivander about single-use wands, Neville rushed up from the other side of the mirror room. "Harry! Ollivander can travel through trees, like humans travel through the floo! And he took me with him! This beauty," he patted the orange tree, "Came from Florida."

Neville bounced on his toes, sharp gestures punctuating his excited words. Harry supposed having the chance to travel through plants would be the crowning achievement for a gardener. Madame Sprout would have a serious case of green envy once she found out.

"And you could practically see the roots we were going through, the travel was so slow, but we made it to Florida in only an hour and it was like flying when we were between roots..."

Harry kept track of Neville's words with only one ear. Could they use travel between trees in this war? And could trees do more than provide conduits for travel? Could they hear what went on around them and communicate it to Ollivander? Better yet, could dead wood do that as well as live wood? Every home had wood of some sort in it. Every room, even. Picture frames, furniture, walls. They could spy on their enemies, limit attacks by simply being aware of when and where they happened. They could have a team on alert at all times to respond.

This could be the greatest defensive weapon mankind had ever used in war. Harry's mind kept spinning through the possibilities before resting on one final thought. _Or it could be the greatest instrument of oppression this world has ever seen._

Ollivander stepped forward and rested a hand on Neville's shoulder. "Neville and I should be able to get an assortment of fruit and nut trees over the next few days. But the real prize is what this young man has been working on in his greenhouse."

Neville ducked his head and shuffled his feet. "It isn't all that much. Just something I was doing for fun."

"You can't stop there, Neville!" Harry protested, grinning. "I can't imagine what's better than fruit and nut trees."

In answer, Neville pulled a handful of seed out of his pocket. "Arthur saved it yesterday. I designed its parent plant to draw on magic as a nutrient."

Harry stared back blankly. "And that means..."

This time Neville grinned, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "By drawing on magic as a nutrient, common plants like wheat speed their growth and their yield without decreasing nutrition."

Harry looked at the tiny seeds still in Neville's outstretched hand. He remembered pictures of grain fields, and he saw a problem "Won't the stalks flop over on the ground if the grain heads get any heavier?"

His question increased Neville's enthusiasm. "That was the tough part. I wanted to quicken the growth rate by three or four times, strengthen the plant, and increase the harvest, all at the same time. And make the plant's ability to draw on magic in only those ways a dominant trait. I've been working with Professor Sprout on it for years!"

"But why?" Harry didn't want to minimize the magnitude of this gift. With Neville's seeds, they'd eventually be able to feed everyone who wanted to fight against Tom Riddle, but it seemed like too great of a coincidence that Neville happened to have a project like this up his sleeve. He half expected that he'd find he'd been dreaming and was actually still sleeping in his cupboard under the stairs.

Neville's eyes slid away from Harry's and he shrugged his shoulders. "I went out in the muggle world years ago with my grandmother. Just a brief trip to visit a friend of hers. I saw pictures of kids just like me starving in Africa." Neville shrugged again, at a loss for words for a long moment. "My plan was to travel to Africa and plant these seeds all over. They'll even grow in the desert, since they can use magic to pull the nutrients they need from wherever they are in the earth."

Alarm bells rang in Harry's head at that. "So if they need water, they'll pull it right out of me if I'm close by?"

Neville hooted with laughter before clapping a hand over his mouth. "Sorry. I just pictured a venomous tentacula slurping water from you as you walked by. It's not funny." The smile he hid behind his hand belied his words.

As dead as Harry would be if that happened, he still smiled back at his friend. "It sounds like a perfect weapon against Tom Riddle."

"To answer your question though, I've designed the plants to only pull nutrients out of inanimate objects, like the ground and air. Even deserts have plenty of water in the air. And when the plants die, they use a last bit of magic to speed up the composting process."

Harry firmly told his jaw to stay in one place. Dropping open to catch flies would probably just provoke Neville to laughter again. "Plants that turn directly into dirt when they die." He shook his head. "That's amazing. I can't believe this took you only few years."

"Six years, actually, since I discovered how much I liked plants during first year. Madame Sprout, Professor Dumbledore, and even Snape helped with some crucial bits. But," Neville admitted, glancing down at his feet, "I haven't got all the wrinkles ironed out. If we're late harvesting the plant, the fruit or whatever will fall down into a pile of dirt as the plant composts itself."

"At least we'll know it's ready to harvest, then." Harry encouraged, but inside he'd fixated on one detail. Snape knew. The thought sent a chill through Harry. He had to assume that what Snape knew, Tom Riddle knew. He turned his attention back to Neville. "Once we get through this, we'll make sure you get to take your trip to Africa," he promised.

As Neville nodded his thanks and walked off to plant his precious seed, Harry watched his friend. When all this blew over, he suspected Neville would be the famous one for eliminating world hunger. Although he didn't know if that would mean much if almost everyone had died by that point.

"You have some questions, I presume?" Ollivander asked, drawing Harry's attention back to himself.

Harry glanced around, trying to decide where to start first. "I made a bargain with the goblins yesterday. Beyond the one everyone knows about."

"Oh?" Ollivander's silver eyes glinted.

Harry felt the urge to wipe his sweaty forehead. They must have increased the humidity in this room. "Before we can defeat Tom Riddle, we have to destroy some things that grant him immortality." That totally gave the game away, he knew, but Ollivander's quiet encouragement of the still-shy Neville had decided Harry. "I think Gringotts has at least one in its vaults, if not more. We need access to it, preferably without breaking into a dragon-infested bank."

Ollivander breathed sharply as he turned and walked towards the long stretch of windows spilling light into the room. Wave after ocean wave crashed and rippled ashore, casting itself upon the narrow strip of sand separating it from the cliff. For a moment, the ocean stretching as far as Harry could see became his war with Voldemort. Never-ending, always coming at him. He set his jaw and crossed his arms with stubborn determination.

Ollivander turned back toward Harry. "That man has done great evil," he sighed. "I need to talk with you about Tom's takeover of the ministry, but I suspect you didn't drop that dungbomb on me for your amusement."

Harry shook his head as trepidation tightened his stomach. After all, he wasn't the one that would have to fulfill this bargain. "I promised the goblins single-use wands that could produce light suitable only for growing food. The light can't cause them to go blind after exposure to it."

Speechless, Ollivander pulled his glasses off, polished them on his robes, and placed them back on his slender nose. After one long minute ticked by, he finally said, "You never do anything by halves, do you Harry Potter?"

That wasn't good. Harry resisted the urge to look away from Ollivander. "Is it even possible?" Breaking his word with the goblins would probably result in a nasty death if they ever caught up with him. Not to mention never offing Tom Riddle if they couldn't access his horcruxes.

Ollivander turned on his heel and paced back and forth with his hands behind his back, muttering to himself. "Let me see. If we combine the heartwood from hornbeam with a golden tail hair from a baby unicorn, then we might be able to make the wand optimal for light production. But the best way to make it a single-use wand..."

Harry listened to these ramblings on tenterhooks. "Fleur said that some Veela hair wands are single-use."

Ollivander sniffed. "Temperamental things. I'd never use Veela hair. But -" He stopped and whirled around. "Did you conclude the bargain with the goblins?"

Confused, Harry nodded. "Bill negotiated, but I gave the final agreement, since it was my idea to start with. That seemed only fair if we couldn't follow through on our end."

"Excellent," came Ollivander's enigmatic reply. "Close your eyes and concentrate on the terms of your contract. If you can, open your magic up and let it flow through your body, but don't release it in a spell. And whatever you do, don't access the pool of magic outside of you!"

Harry wished the wandmaker would explain what he was after, but Harry closed his eyes obediently. He was the one who'd volunteered Ollivander's skills without asking. He took a deep breath and concentrated on the terms of their bargain. Single-use wands that would create light suitable for growing crops underground without blinding the goblins and nothing else. He focused deep inside of him and opened himself up to his magic. As he got lost in the feeling of magic humming in his veins, he felt a sharp pain in his scalp.

"Ow!" he complained, eyeing the chunk of hair hanging from Ollivander's fingers. "What was that for?"

"The last ingredient for the single-use wands, of course. Your magic imbued the terms of the contract in every fiber of your being as you concentrated on it just now. Now all I need is Hagrid's help locating a baby unicorn."

Harry didn't like the idea of having that contract imbedded inside of him, but as long as they fulfilled it, he should survive. "Do you know which part of the light to filter out?"

"Of course I do. Muggles call it ultraviolet light, but that doesn't really matter for our purposes. Goblins are extraordinarily sensitive to it. The wood I'm using, hornbeam, combined with unicorn hair should have a purifying effect on the light flowing out of the wand. If a goblin casts the spell, then the light shouldn't include what harms him."

"Brilliant!" Harry was glad spend weeks researching this. "I get the unicorn hair part, but what does hornbeam do?"

Ollivander smiled and looked at Harry over his spectacles. "Think about it. Horn. Beam. The wood that's like a unicorn."

Of course. How obvious. Harry shook his head wryly at himself and gave Ollivander his thanks as he turned to go. Ollivander stopped him. "Do you not think it strange that Tom Riddle moved so quickly to secure the ministry?"

Harry hadn't thought about it. "Maybe my curse prodded him into motion or something."

"In this case I would say, 'or something.'" Ollivander grimaced. "Tom Riddle has shown a pattern of meticulous planning and delicate strategies that take months or years to achieve. Plus, he's been a touch mad and obsessed with you." Ollivander paused here to see if Harry followed him.

Harry nodded for him to continue.

"Before I go any further, you should know the guardians that set up the rules magic currently follows put in a safeguard."

"A safeguard?" Harry echoed. Surely that couldn't be a bad thing, could it?

"Yes, against good people who sought to justify the means by the ends they achieved. People like Stalin and Hitler, who took away man's freedom to choose to impose a paradise, a utopia on all mankind. Toward this end, they murdered millions. Imagine what would happen if a man with such _pure_ intentions accessed the tremendous power in the world's pool of magic."

That would be bad. "So what does this safeguard do?" Harry asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.

"It's complex. But put simply, if a good person taps into the pool of magic, then a proportion of the magic used - based on the current ratio of good to evil in the world – will be given to evil wizards. So if only a bit of the world is evil, then only a small amount of the magic used from this pool will be divided up and given to evil wizards. Balance is then maintained to allow humans to choose for themselves to be good or evil."

These complicated ideas swirled through Harry's mind, each one chasing upon the tail of the other. "Did Tom get a some of that magic, then?"

Ollivander shook his head and returned to his pacing. "Not exactly. I suspect that due to your curse and the connection you share with him, Tom Riddle received the entire portion designated to the evil side of magic after you summoned the chestnuts."

Harry had only summoned chestnuts. A lot of chestnuts. It wasn't like he'd tried to change the course of the earth itself or anything. "But surely it wouldn't have been that much magic!" Harry protested. "Not enough to get him to get him to run for minister the next day!"

"No," agreed Ollivander. "I think the concentrated dose of magic gave him just what he needed to counter you. Healing to give him back his sanity."

To be continued...


	32. Chapter 31

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

From the last chapter...

_Harry had only summoned chestnuts. A lot of chestnuts. It wasn't like he'd tried to change the course of the earth itself or anything. "But surely it wouldn't have been that much magic!" Harry protested. "Not enough to get him to get him to run for minister the next day!"_

"_No," agreed Ollivander. "I think the concentrated dose of magic gave him just what he needed to counter you. Healing to give him back his sanity." _

Chapter 31

Minerva McGonagall stared out the broad double doors of Hogwarts and down the pathway leading to the gate. She ran her hand along the fine-grained wood, polished by the many hands of children through nearly a thousand years. Something she would end this day, perhaps for all time. She straightened her spine before reminding herself she'd fare better in this interview by looking weak.

She stepped through the open doors and walked slowly down to the gates, mud sucking at her boots from a recent rain. She leaned heavily on her cane and walked slowly, knowing Madame Pince and Professor Vector needed time to lead thirteen confused children through the tunnel underneath the Whomping Willow to the Shrieking Shack, where they would take turns apparating the children to Potter Manor.

Minerva felt for her new wand in her pocket where it rested next to Hogwarts' guest book in her robes. Ollivander knew just what would suit her, and he'd sent it with Arthur the first day he'd retrieved her to join Potter's camp for dinner. _That boy has a knack for trouble, _she told herself again, distracting herself from the upcoming confrontation. _No wonder 'Alrick Armstrong' is claiming Voldemort initiated this food shortage in the muggle world just to get rid of the boy. He has more lives than a cat. _

She came to a halt just inside Hogwarts' gates. "Surely such a force isn't necessary against Hogwarts, Acting Minister! We're on the same side, after all."

She forced a cheery unconcern into her voice, but she sternly stepped on the urge to smile when Alrick Armstrong grimaced. She knew she was baiting him by referring to his status as temporary minister – pending elections that she was sure would never happen. She swept her gaze over the assembled aurors. Her occlumency wasn't up to the task of extended eye contact with Tom Riddle.

"I'm sure we are, my dear." Charm oozed from Alrick's every pore. "You're looking a bit peaky. I'm sure the last few weeks have taken their toll on you."

Minerva looked down and willed her bottom lip to tremble. She had to misdirect the snake in front of her till she got the all-clear from Madame Pince. The lockdown couldn't occur till every living thing was off Hogwarts grounds, and that included the tunnels. "We've suffered a great loss."

"Indeed." Alrick's solemn facade cracked as a slight sneer broke through.

Minerva ignored it. "What do you need from Hogwarts, Minister Armstrong?"

Armstrong pulled out a ministerial decree written on fine parchment and flourished it. "These are difficult times, as you know. My predecessor strongly suspected that Hogwarts is stockpiling its food while the rest of the wizarding world starves. I have decreed, and the Wizengamot has approved, a search of the castle grounds for food that will be distributed to those who are going without."

Minerva doubted anything would reach the wizarding public. All food would go first to his ministry flunkies and then to his death eaters. No, the real reason for this search was to put the survival of anyone at Hogwarts directly into the hands of the ministry. Food had now become the ultimate tool of control.

"You are welcome, of course." Minerva smiled through thin lips as she pulled out her guest book and then her wand, causing the aurors to tense. Her smile became genuine. "We've tightened security, as is only wise. I'm afraid I'll need to add each name to the guest book."

Openly skeptical, Alrick Armstrong stepped closer and examined the cover. A dragon lay sleeping on the front cover with the school's motto circling it. _Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus_. Never tickle a sleeping dragon. How appropriate a warning for Minerva's plans, although she was sure Tom was too arrogant to heed it.

"Go ahead." Alrick nodded curtly, less than pleased with this development.

"Thank you, Minister." Minerva opened the book and glanced at the date of the last entry. 1612. It had been over four centuries since Hogwarts had stepped up it's security level. With Albus there to protect the school, it hadn't been necessary against Voldemort or Grindelwald.

She tapped the page and in a loud voice enunciated, "Alrick Armstrong."

A pinprick of light settled on the page but didn't move. "How odd," she mused.

Alrick narrowed his eyes. "What's odd? Get on with it, old woman."

_He must sense that something's wrong. I'm sure I'll be labeled senile shortly. "_The light is refusing to write." She turned the book around so both Alrick Armstrong and his aurors could see. "The only time that happens is when the person being entered into the book is actually dead. A security feature, you understand."

In sync with her words, the glowing dot of light winked out without having written a letter, leaving behind a tendril of smoke curling its way up into the sky. Minerva stomped on her inner glee. She couldn't afford any of it to leak outside her shields, no matter how much she enjoyed tweaking Tom Riddle's nose. He wouldn't take the chance of hurting her in his current pose as minister. Not right away.

As she paused to allow the aurors time to absorb that bombshell, a white goat floated into view, its fur of ruffled miniature book pages fluttering with the speed of its passage, and spoke the key phrase in a deep, booming voice. "It has been hidden." _There, _ Minerva thought, _that ought to stick in their craw. _

Even as Madame Pince's patronus whirled around and disappeared in a puff of pages, Minerva tapped the guest book again and whispered. "_Claustrum Hogwarts._" Lock Hogwarts.

The ancient book flipped shut of its own accord and the cast iron gates behind her clanged shut. The last image she saw as she apparated away was an impotent snarl ripping across Alrick Armstrong's face.

* * *

Kingsley Shacklebolt strode across the thinly carpeted floor to his desk In the auror department. His boss had the office walls removed to "ncrease efficiency and communication. _It did that_, he acknowledged grimly as he tried to banish the chatter of his friends. Friends he would soon be betraying. It didn't matter that he would be fleeing for his life in a few short moments. He still wouldn't be there to help them fight against Voldemort, their new minister. Not that they knew who they were dealing with. Not yet. He only knew because he'd been in touch with Minerva the night before to update her on their new minister.

The massive clock hanging on the wall of the open department chimed twice. Two in the afternoon, and mere minutes after his team returned from their disastrous attempt at taking over Hogwarts. Minerva's time-stalling tactic had put Voldemort enough off balance that she was able to apparate away unscathed, but such would not be the case for the aurors present.

They'd attempted entry into Hogwarts every way possible, without success. He glanced down at his soil-stained robes. No new tunnel could be dug under the gates or walls. Old tunnels were impassable. Kingsley had a rather nasty bump to the head to prove that.

But Voldemort had been busy with the aurors left behind to guard him. Judging by Dawlish's dazed eyes and slack expression, Kingsley estimated a powerful obliviate and imperius had been cast close together on the unsuspecting auror. The next victim, Claxton Proudfoot, was even now in a "get-to-know-you" interview in the new minister's office. Kingsley was next.

He forced his footsteps to remain steady as he neared his desk. He reached under his desk and grabbed a pack he'd prepared for long stake-outs and slung it over his broad shoulders. He scribbled a quick note to Tonks informing her of Voldemort's new identity, the possible taboo they might face on Voldemort's name, and a meeting point if she had to flee. As their last source of information in this department, she would have to stay as long as possible. At least she hadn't gone on that ill-fated trip to Hogwarts, thanks to Kingsley's own "anonymous" tip called in earlier about Harry Potter's whereabouts.

A true smile graced his lips as Kingsley tapped the parchment with his wand and whispered, "_siccus_ " to dry the ink. He doubted Harry knew he'd been sighted attempting to infiltrate the walls of Azkaban that very morning in search of a safe place to stay with food.

Kingsley nodded and smiled at his friends as he walked toward the door nearest the floo. Tonks didn't bat an eye when he dropped the crumpled piece of paper by her foot as he walked by. He'd trained her well.

"Where are you off to, Kingsley?" Savage asked. "Didn't the minister want to talk to us?"

A broad smile flashed across the dark-skinned Auror's face. "I've just had another tip that Potter's drifting in a boat off a coast on the North Sea, near Azkaban. I'm sure the minister won't mind if I go out and nab him."

Savage threw his head back and laughed. "That boy is crazy. With luck, you might be back in time for tea with the minister. Wouldn't that be something?"

"Wouldn't it?" Kingsley murmured as he waved a hand at his friend. He walked through the doorway and moved to the side, sweeping the hall with his eyes to ensure it was clear before apparating away. The floo was far too easy to trace. Wands were harder, but not by much. At least using his wand bought him a bit more time.

Once he'd apparated to his London flat, Kingsley restrained the urge to toss his ministry-approved wand to the side. He didn't need to advertise that he'd procured a second, unregistered wand years ago. Several times that had been the only way to avoid blowing his cover for the Order, like that disaster with Marietta Edgecomb and Dumbledore's Army. Fudge's green bowler hat had flown straight up with the force of his rage when Dumbledore escaped

Back at the ministry, the enraged Fudge ordered a review of all spells cast by each member of that disastrous meeting. Kingsley had offered up his clean, registered wand. The memory modification charm he'd cast was on the wand he'd stashed in his boot. Not too comfortable, perhaps, but safe.

Kingsley grabbed his trunk, tossed the old wand in it, slammed the lid, and apparated to the Shrieking Shack. He had some business to attend to first, and the trunk would only get in the way. He closed his eyes and pushed away the musty smell of disintegrating fabric and furniture. After pulling up an image of a tiny closet in a dimly lit bunker in East Anglia, he focused his will and disapparated.

A loud pop echoed off walls of the empty closet when he appeared. He grimaced at the sound and listened for any movement out in room beyond. Cracking the door, Kingsley peered through and scanned the room. Bare white walls with a utilitarian bunk bed, green blankets, and a spare desk and chair met his eyes.

Excellent. He strode for the door on the opposite side of the room while tapping his cloak and watching as it slipped and slithered into nondescript military fatigues suitable for a guard. Heels clicking on the gray cement, Kingsley sped through the hallways in search of his target. Occasionally he passed other military personnel, many whom he recognized from his work this past year.

He twisted and turned through labyrinthine underground corridors before finding the briefing room, helpfully labeled by a plastic white placard hanging outside the metal door. He shifted the heavy door with ease and locked eyes with the man at the head of the oval table: the prime minister of Britain, the man whose life he'd been tasked with protecting over a year ago.

Despite his official release from that mission one week prior by Rufus Scrimgeour, Kingsley couldn't allow the murder of this good man by Voldemort. He ignored the anger bubbling up inside him at his own mistake. He should never have filed that report on the current whereabouts of the prime minister! It was only a matter of time before some paper-pushing flunky brought it ever so helpfully to Alrick Armstrong's attention, with the purpose of promoting collaboration for survival with the muggles, of course.

He blew out his breath as the meeting fell silent. All eyes turned to him.

"Kingsley!" The prime minister's eyebrows rose. "I thought you had family matters to attend to."

Family matters were their code word for magical business. "Yes, minister." Kingsley had no time to sugarcoat the problem at hand. "I'm afraid this location has been compromised. You need to abandon this bunker." He moved to the prime minister's shoulder and looked into each pair of eyes staring back at him, searching for any sign of dizziness, confusion, or other tell-tales left behind by an imperius curse cast on muggles.

Nothing.

"Now see hear!" An elderly man with white hair stood and pointed a spindly finger at Kingsley. "We can't move! We've extended too many resources clearing the roads and maintaining the crops here. There are no other major farming areas in England that we've a bunker near. If we leave, Britain has no future. At least here we might be able to downgear and save some people."

Tired heads nodded in agreement all around the table. Each person in this room was determined to save what they could of their nation.

Kingsley admired that. He thought quickly, trying to figure out a way to help these people who were so desperate to save their people. Making the bunker unplottable was out of the question, as was the _fidelius_ charm. If this area was to get back on its feet, they would have to be able access the leaders and resources in this bunker.

But...anti-apparition charms might just provide them an edge against a wizard attack. Kingsley straightened his shoulders. "May I speak to you privately, Prime Minister?"

The prime minister sighed, but agreed. Everyone filed out, whispering and casting concerned glances behind them. "Now I'm going to have explain to them why a junior secretary of mine has enough authority to dismiss the entire surviving government."

"You won't have to explain a thing." Kingsley flashed a grin at the prime minister, who reluctantly smiled back.

"That sounds even worse." The prime minister loosened his tie and leaned back in his chair.

"It is." The smile fell off Kingsley's face. "You-Know-Who is now the Minister of Magic. He'll come after you once he consolidates his hold."

The blood drained from the prime minister's face. "How?" He shook his head. "That doesn't matter. The next thing you'll tell me is that this whole disaster," he spread his hands wide, "was caused by wizards."

Kingsley looked away. While he didn't know how Iran had pulled off this world-wide apocalypse, it would have been easier to do with magic. And the Iranian wizards had always been...unpredictable.

An angry snort came from the prime minister. "Why can't you people keep your own under control? What have you been doing with your magic, turning teacups into gerbils?"

Showing that useless spell to incoming ministers was standard procedure, but Kingsley had to agree with the muggle in front of him. Nearly all of the magical population was woefully unprepared for any sort of magical battle.

The prime minister stared at him, waiting.

Instead of answering, Kingsley said, "I'm going into hiding and taking you with me. You have ten minutes to write out instructions. You're going into protective custody, and it may be a few days before you'll get back in touch. Tell them you're leaving some sort of cutting edge technology that allows a permanent communication line to stay open in this room. You'll be able to hear them, and they'll be able to hear you. Tell them it's a new prototype R&D has been working on." Kingsley plucked the buttons from his black suit coat and cast a two-way communication charm on the oval table dominating the room, tying the other half of the charm into one of the buttons.

He put the other buttons in his pocket. If he wanted to have any advance notice of Voldemort's attack here, he'd better open more two-way communication lines while he cast the anti-apparition charms.

Kingsley stopped just outside the door and looked at the furiously scribbling prime minister. "Tell them to shoot on sight anyone they see in a cloak if they don't want to end up dead."

Without looking up, the prime minister nodded as he continued scratching away.

To be continued...

* * *

A/N Sorry there was no Harry in this chapter! I thought you'd find it far more interesting to see these events than to hear about them second-hand in a boring old meeting at the end of the day, or a few days down the road...The next chapter will be all about Harry.


	33. Chapter 32

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling

From the last chapter:

_Kingsley stopped just outside the door and looked back at the furiously scribbling prime minister. "Tell them to shoot on sight anyone they see in a cloak if they don't want to end up dead."_

_Without looking up, the prime minister nodded as he continued scratching away._

Chapter 32

Sanity. The word kept bouncing around Harry's head as he ate his tasteless dinner after talking with Ollivander. Sanity. Harry ignored the excited babble of the refugees from Hogwarts at the long table. Sanity. Harry broke off red pieces of the puking pastilles one by one and stuffed them in his pocket to prepare for his trip to the Dursleys. All he wanted to do was curl up, go to sleep, and forget how he'd given a madman enough sanity to take over the ministry legitimately in one day. Or two.

They'd received word from Kingsley, through Minerva, about the changeover. Tom Riddle was officially in charge of Britain's wizarding world.

Harry smiled despite his gloom. Minerva had been brilliant against Tom. The lockdown and transfer of everything but the portraits was complete, and owls were even now winging their way toward each student's home. No doubt after that, the Daily Prophet would be spreading the news, most likely in a special edition devoted entirely to the topic. Maybe they could interest Rita Skeeter in an exclusive interview to expose who Alrick really was. Harry dismissed that thought after a second. Then they'd have to give her asylum for her safety, and he didn't want that beetle recording his every move.

He trudged to the entrance under the boulder. That had become their official apparition room. As he walked through the narrow stone hallway, Harry supposed that the manor would someday begin to feel like a large prison, exposed on all sides by the wide-open terrain on top of the cliff and the empty ocean lapping at its foot. But there was too much to do yet in their mad dash to find enough food to feed themselves.

Neville's cache of seeds would help in a month or two's time, but most of that would have to be reinvested as seed to grow additional crops. It was too bad they couldn't have planted the seed on Hogwarts' grounds before the lockdown. Harry shook his head at his own foolishness. With no air passing in and out of Hogwarts' wards, the available supply of carbon dioxide for the plants would be quickly depleted.

John was anticipating that problem here as well, to the point that he was encouraging people to sleep in the mirror room and any other room used for planting. Neville had volunteered first, of course, with Madame Sprout following close behind. They would rotate sleeping shifts for now, one every other night. If that was inadequate, more people would be enlisted, or they would have to create magical air replacement spells.

Those spells might be needed in any case. The manor had some ventilation, but it was never designed with dozens of people in mind, let alone the potential hundreds Harry could envision. But ventilation spells received scant attention when it came to research. Hermione and Flitwick were spending all their time poring over dusty old books trying to replicate and expand Dumbledore's work with Percy's loyalty clock.

Dumbledore! Dumbledore's portrait! Harry almost turned around before remembering Hermione, Ron, and Ginny had promised to see him off tonight. They'd been livid with him when they found out from the twins where he'd slept last night.

He pushed through the heavy door to the apparition room and smiled at his friends. "Hermione, I had a brilliant idea!"

"Hello to you, too, Harry Potter." Ginny tapped her foot and frowned at him.

Harry grinned sheepishly. "Hi, everyone. It's been ages since I've seen all of you."

"Yeah, since dinner." Ron rolled his eyes. "Is it possible to be tired of fish already?"

"You've only had it four times," Ginny said, turning her frown on her brother.

"In the past two days. Fish taste..." Ron searched for the right word. "Fishy."

"Fishy?" Ginny began before Hermione interrupted her.

"I think Ron might have been comparing fish to seaweed." Hermione kept her voice calm and low, like she was working with one of Hagrid's pets in care of magical creatures.

Ginny rounded on Hermione. "And have you ever tasted seaweed?"

"Have you ever smelled seaweed?" Hermione countered. "And what's the matter? You're acting like a chimaera that hasn't been fed. In months."

_Good call_. Harry thought. He was just glad Hermione hadn't compared Ginny to one of Hagrid's blast-ended screwts, although that would have been just as apt. But that might have earned Hermione a curse.

Ginny threw her hands up in the air. "I've been chopping, cooking, peeling, and learning every culinary spell known to man. All the while you three get to go on adventures and do all the fun stuff!"

_She has a point,_ Harry acknowledged to himself. _Kitchen work can make you feel like a drudge in no time flat, like I did at the Dursleys. Unless you like cooking, of course. Which Ginny obviously doesn't._ He couldn't change anything, though. It took a lot of work to feed everyone. But there was another possibility... "Ginny, do you know about Neville's new seeds?"

Ginny looked at him, brown eyes unhappy as she nodded.

"Maybe you could find a way to cook food without the loss of nutrients caused by the heat." Harry remembered Aunt Petunia blaming Dudley and Vernon's poor health on the loss of nutrition from cooking food. The ensuing raw food diet had been spectacularly unsuccessful. Harry suppressed a smile at the memory. He didn't want Ginny thinking he was laughing at her. Besides, if Ginny could find a way to minimize nutrition loss, then they'd be able to stretch their food supply a bit further.

"I don't know, Harry." Ginny said doubtfully. "I'd still be up to my elbows in vegetable peelings and fish guts every day."

Ron winced. "Maybe Neville could teach you how to compost those guts? That would at least get rid of the nasty smell. And the squishiness."

"Think of those vegetables as lab experiments," Harry said. "You took arithmancy and runes just like Hermione. Who knows? You might single-handedly improve the nutrition of the entire wizarding world. Purebloods everywhere might thank you for saving their pasty offspring." Harry pictured Draco Malfoy's pale, unhealthy pallor as he said this.

Ginny laughed. "All right. For the sake of fame and fortune, I'll give it another go. But you guys owe me!"

"No doubt," Hermione agreed before changing the subject. "Harry, what was your idea?"

"Oh. Now that Professor McGonagall is here, she'd probably let you consult with Professor Dumbledore's portrait."

"Why didn't I think of that?" Hermione asked. "Even if his portrait doesn't remember making the watch, he'd probably have some tips. We'd better be off!"

She practically bounced up and down with excitement, and Harry knew she wouldn't wait till tomorrow to get access to the portrait. Harry waved at his friends as they left, and listened to Hermione chatter away to Ginny as the door closed on their conversation. "What we'll have to do is protect the nutrients while allowing the heat to break down everything else..."

"Is Master Harry Potter ready, sir?" Dobby's squeaky voice said.

Harry turned his head sharply. He hadn't noticed Dobby standing silently by the podium with the guest book "Yes. Thanks, Dobby."

Dobby bounced with happiness. "I'm glad to serve Harry Potter, sir!"

Harry popped a red puking pastille into his mouth before winking away to the Dursleys, and the nausea this time was manageable. He settled himself on the hard floor with his invisibility cloak draped over him and quickly dropped off into a dreamless sleep.

A murmured voice woke Harry before dawn. At least he guessed it was before dawn, judging by the absolute lack of light coming from the crack under the closet door. Harry strained his ears to catch the voice, remembering now the crunching glass from yesterday. He wondered if someone was using the Dursley's house as a hideout. As Harry stilled his breathing, he finally heard the voice clearly.

"I don't see why I can't clean this house up. No doubt I'll trip and fall into one these piles of glass. This hideous house is in desperate need of a broom and mop."

Harry sucked his breath in as if he'd been punched in the gut. His eyes darted to the end of the closet where the brooms and mops stood in the darkness. He knew that voice. He'd heard it every day at Hogwarts: Snape. Evil, murdering Snape. His hand twitched toward his wand before he stilled it. _If only I didn't have to hide! With almost two more weeks before the spell is recharged, I can't afford to run out with my wand blazing. _Harry sighed regretfully. _I might have actually won with my new wand. _He slowly reached his hand out toward Dobby to signal the house elf to wink them away, but then he paused. He wanted to hear who replied. The Order was sorely lacking in intelligence on Voldemort's movements, and he was sure Snape didn't know Harry was there.

A softer voice replied, "...dear boy...stay under cover...the ministry will be tipped off if...clean."

Harry closed his hand around Dobby's wrist. He'd heard enough, and excitement surged through him instead of nausea as they winked away. While Harry had missed a few words, he knew that voice. Albus Dumbledore.

* * *

"I'm telling you, Hermione," Harry struggled to keep his voice to a whisper in the library later that morning. He'd taken a detour on his way to sorting the junk from the Room of Hidden Things. "It was Professor Dumbledore! I'd know his voice anywhere!"

Doubt darkened Hermione's face, and she bit her lip before looking down. "Harry, you saw him die! People just don't come back from the dead." She twirled her self-inking quill, heedless of the spatters of ink falling across her parchment.

Harry leaned back in his chair and groaned. "This is just like last year when none of you would believe me about Draco!"

Hermione's shoulders rose and fell as she took a deep breath. One minute passed, then two. "You're right. We didn't believe you and we were wrong." She gave Harry a small smile. "Even though it did seem impossible at the time."

"Just like now," Harry pointed out.

"Yes," Hermione agreed. "But think. Are you sure you weren't dreaming? Sleeping under the stairs is bound to bring on nightmares. I'm sure Neville has nightmares about Snape, too." She gave him an impish grin.

Harry laughed, mostly out of relief that Hermione was willing to take what he said at face value. "But Dumbledore alive beats out hearing Snape complain any old day."

"I don't see how Dumbledore would still be alive, though. Unless..." Hermione trailed off, her eyes focusing on the bookshelves behind Harry.

"Unless..." Harry prompted after a moment.

"The Order of the Phoenix!" Hermione said. "What if it was named after Dumbledore, not Fawkes?"

Harry scratched his head. "He was human last time I saw him." He grinned at her. "Every time I saw him, actually."

"Harry!" Hermone groaned, slapping at his arm playfully. "What if he could turn into a phoenix? I've never heard of a wizard with a magical animagus, but I also never heard of anyone with a phoenix as a familiar. Who knows with the headmaster?"

Harry began to see where Hermione was heading. "And phoenixes are reborn from the ashes!"

"And his body went up in flames at the funeral, before his coffin. Remember that phoenix flying into the blue sky, right before the marble tomb appeared?" Hermione's mouth stretched in a wide smile. "You know, it just might be possible."

To be continued...

A/N I'm not sure if I want to put it up to a vote on whether or not Albus Dumbledore lives. I have it working either way for the story. What are your thoughts on the matter? If you have a persuasive argument for Dumbledore living or dying, let me know! But, I'm pretty firm on the point that this is Harry's story, and Harry and his friends are directing their adventure. As much as they can. Those evil death eaters keep getting in the way.


	34. Chapter 33

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

From the last chapter…

_"Harry!" Hermone groaned, slapping at his arm playfully. "What if he could turn into a phoenix? I've never heard of a wizard with a magical animagus, but I also never heard of anyone with a phoenix as a familiar. Who knows with the headmaster?"_

_Harry began to see where Hermione was heading. "And phoenixes are reborn from the ashes!"_

_"And his body went up in flames at the funeral, before his coffin. Remember that phoenix flying into the blue sky, right before the marble tomb appeared?" Hermione's mouth stretched in a wide smile. "You know, it just might be possible."_

Chapter 33

"I don't know," Ron disagreed hours later as he and Harry searched through the rubbish from the Room of Hidden Things.

Harry pulled out his trump card. "When have you ever known Hermione to be wrong? Dumbledore could still be alive. Maybe it's some grand plot to get Snape in on Tom Riddle's good side. His death would have to be believable."

Ron piled old school books in piles by subjects. They'd be useful since Minerva had sent most of the school's spare textbooks out to needy students for homeschooling. "Hermione's been wrong when she had the wrong information. If you think about it, Snape had every opportunity to collect Dumbledore's hair for polyjuice potion. It could be a trap."

Ron's steady tone surprised Harry, and he looked closer at his best friend. "That sounded surprisingly sensible." Harry was only half teasing.

Ron glanced up and shrugged. "We don't have time for nonsense." He smiled wryly. "When all this started, I decided I'd best keep my head on straight if I was going to use my one strength to help."

"Just one strength?" Harry asked in mock amazement.

Ron punched Harry's shoulder. "Strategy and all that. You have the amazingly good and horrible bad luck. Hermione has the brains, and I can create strategy. I can't do that if I'm off losing my temper half the time. Even though I still do. Just quietly." He grinned.

_He has a point, _thought Harry. "So what's our strategy, O Great One?" Harry intoned, raising both hands over his head and bowing to the floor. He just managed to keep a straight face.

Ron chucked a book at him. "Search through that for the curse someone put on your dad."

"Some jealous hag might have cast one on my mum, instead." Harry said as he turned the book over in his hands. He'd know that worn binding and those dog-eared corners anywhere. The Half-blood Prince's potion book.

"Nah," Ron disagreed. "Everyone loved your mum, from what Remus has said. And don't girls cast a disfigurement jinx or something? Like Hermione did on the defense sign-up fifth year."

"True," Harry acknowledged. "If anyone wanted to kill my dad when he was growing up, it would be Snape." An intense desire to capture his old potions professor tonight and force him to reverse the curse he might have cast held Harry in its sway for one long moment. His vision narrowed in on the book in his hands, and his breathing quickened. But the other part of Harry, the one that hoped Dumbledore was still alive, stopped him. _Maybe I'd better take a leaf out of Ron's book before I run off seeking revenge. Else I just might end up dead. _He sighed with regret. Running off impulsively was a lot more fun.

Harry set the book to the side to take back to his room. "Did you find that old tiara that was near it? It seemed like junk when I hid the potions book before, but maybe it was Ravenclaw's missing diadem Flitwick talked about earlier. It looked like a crownish type of thing."

"No. Everything got dumped in bags when they packed the Room of Hidden Things. It could be anywhere."

"Yeah," Harry agreed as he settled in for the long haul. "It was probably just a piece of plastic an eleven year old thought was treasure and hid."

* * *

Harry burst into the library later that afternoon. He was prepared to drag Hermione away from her books, but he stopped short. Hermione, waving her hands and chattering to a portrait, faced away from Harry, and he could see clearly who she was talking to. Albus Dumbledore's bright blue eyes twinkled at him from underneath a vibrant hat littered with shooting stars that moved and twirled. Piles of socks in the background ensured his painted toes would never know a minute of cold.

"Ah, my dear boy. Come here." He raised a hand, white and supple, to point at this hat. "I've charmed my hat to change color and pattern each day. Variety livens things up as a portrait, you know."

Harry came to a stop in front of his mentor and swallowed the hard lump in his throat ""How much... I mean, do you remember..." He petered off, unable to ask Dumbledore if he remembered dying - or if he even died at all.

"I updated my portrait each day this past year," Albus looked down as he polished his crescent glasses on the edge of his lime green robe. "I knew I was going to die soon, you see." He held up his hand, formerly blackened and useless.

"But...but...Snape killed you! Not your arm!" Harry sputtered with indignation, forgetting for a moment his hopes that the greatest wizard of their time still lived.

Albus Dumbledore yawned and stretched widely, his hands leaving the side of the portrait as he did so.

Hermione, silent till now, spoke up. "I asked him about that, Harry. He doesn't remember, of course, but he won't answer or say a thing against Severus Snape. When I bring it up, he pretends to sleep." She glared at their former master.

Harry stared at her. "Hermione! You, disrespectful? To the headmaster?"

Hermione tossed her hair over her shoulder. "We're fighting a war here, and he's obstructing our efforts!"

"Maybe Snape confunded the portrait." Harry snuck a glance at the portrait. Dumbledore cracked an eyelid, but otherwise gave no response.

Hermione shook her head, a frown pulling at the corners of her mouth. "He just gave me the last bit of information I need to complete the loyalty and imperius clocks. That's not the mark of someone who's confunded." She stood up and began walking in a circle around the table. "The problem is that only one person can be attached per clock. There's too many variables otherwise!"

The stress in her voice caught Harry's attention. In a normal situation, they'd buy as many watches as needed, but clocks had been low on the list of survival items to pack.

Harry stood. "Maybe I can find some old ones we can get working in the Room of Hidden Things. And we found all those mirrors in the basemen; maybe someone in my family collected clocks."

Harry took one last look at the sleeping portrait before turning around to go. Dumbledore's voice stopped him as he reached the door. "Harry, don't forget you need to go home to recharge your mother's spell."

Anger flaring through him, Harry turned on his heel. "That sounds like a recipe to get me killed." He ignored Hermione's questioning glance. He didn't know if this portrait was to be trusted; he'd listen to Dumbledore and Snape tonight and decide then.

Dumbledore smiled sadly before closing his eyes again.

* * *

That evening Harry bid his friends goodbye in the apparition room with barely a thought, distracted by what he might hear from his cupboard under the stairs. He'd decided some spying was in order before moving forward with contacting or capturing Snape. Twice now he'd heard sounds in the house in the wee hours of the morning or later.

Both Hermione and Ron had agreed to hold off on telling any adults for at least tonight. Harry planned to bring Dobby under his invisibility cloak, which was the only reason his friends were letting him go tonight. That and the fact that he had to recharge his mother's protection spell.

If Arthur or Minerva yanked these night time trips away from Harry, as they just well might, there was no telling what would happen. A meteor might fall out of the sky and land on the manor, obliterating all within its confines. Or a horde of muggles might suddenly notice the house after a thousand years of living near it and descend upon it in a desperate bid to find food. The resulting conflict would of course attract the ministry due to Harry's bad luck. They'd then have a massive battle – which Harry just might win if his mother's protection spell asserted itself in time. But how many would die?

No, they didn't dare tell Arthur and Minerva yet. Not till he had assessed the situation better. Harry pulled out his wand and cast _silencio _on Dobby, who jumped around and silently yelled at the top of his lungs with a delighted grin. Harry had trouble giving the bouncing elf a card with block print stating, "I'm silenced."

In case anything happened to Harry, he wanted his friend to have the spell reversed. While Harry couldn't afford to silence his own voice, he cast silencing charms on his clothes and shoes. With a nod to himself, he loosely clasped his hand around the still jumping house elf. Dobby landed and winked them away, sending Harry back into the darkness of the Dursely's house.

Harry chewed vigorously on the puking pastille, once again grateful he'd separated the remedy from the puking part. He ought to recommend to the twins that they market it as an anti-nausea candy for pregnant women. It was better tasting and more convenient than a potion. The twins could make millions off it if things ever got back to normal.

After arranging his invisibility cloak, he once again threaded his arm through the forest of brooms and mops. _Aunt Petunia must have stocked up on them just before she left, _Harry mused. _She could never have too many cleaning supplies. _Remembering the years of sweeping, mopping, and scrubbing the kitchen floor set off a ghostly ache in his lower back. His elbow clipped the edge of one handle and it tipped into the broom next to it with a dull thud. Harry froze, listening hard for any sound in the house.

When no alarm sounded, he admonished himself to be careful – if Snape glanced in this here, he might notice if the brooms were askew. After a tense minute, his hand reached the crack under the doorway, and he wedged the flexible string of the extendable ear between the door frame and the door itself.

Harry let out a silent sigh of relief once he'd pulled his hand back underneath his cloak. He should be able to hear any sound Snape made now. Perhaps Snape came here as extra insurance at the behest of Tom Riddle. Although he had no doubt Tom Riddle, in his persona of Alrick Armstrong, was still monitoring his childhood home. In fact, he'd probably been delighted to find out the extent of the surveillance charms placed on his home by the ministry.

Hours later, a muffled curse woke Harry from a sleep filled with restless dreams full of peach colored string morphing into giant crickets whose cheerful chirping echoed in his head. Fogginess fled his brain as he remembered who he hoped to spy on tonight. Severus Snape, the murderer of the possibly dead Albus Dumbledore.

Instead of scintillating conversation between his mentor and the betrayer, Harry instead heard one set of footsteps walk through every room of the house before stopping in the kitchen. Snape grumbled about eating cold food, and he complained again about the mess. No one answered back. Several clunks book-ended by loud squeaks told Harry that Snape had thrown several somethings in the rubbish bin underneath the sink.

Footsteps echoed on the hallway tile, and Harry stopped breathing as those they stopped outside the closet door for seconds that stretched into an eternity. A loud complaint deafened Harry as the footsteps crunching on glass continued on into the parlor. The window in the door must be broken. "If that Potter boy doesn't show up soon, this house will have to be cleaned. I refuse to live in a dangerous pig sty."

Harry had no doubt his former professor blamed him for every bit of that inconvenient mess, regardless of the fact that Harry hadn't stepped foot in the house proper in more than ten months. That inconsequential thought was crowded out by another, more pressing question. Why was Snape waiting for him? Had Tom Riddle given Snape orders to bring him in?

He ground his teeth, anger at his teacher's betrayal overwhelming him again. Two clicks and a long, slow creak distracted him. Harry listened closely, eager for any distraction from his roiling, confused thoughts.

"I've checked all the windows and doors, Albus. They're still locked and there's no sign of the Potter boy."

"Harry, Severus. His name is Harry." Albus's tired tones contradicted, as if he'd lost this argument more than once.

"He's James Potter's son." The potion master's silky tones brimming with derision carried back into the hallway.

"But he's Lily's son, as well."

Now Snape sounded irritated. "Yes, yes. That's why I'm here, after all. Trying to save the life of her ungrateful whelp, who doesn't even have the decency to follow your instructions!"

"Now, Severus," Albus soothed. He sounded like he'd said these words enough times that even he wasn't listening to them anymore. "You know we didn't plan for this. Oh, you made those potions and I made the portkeys for the Weasleys. But the lack of food and stability in the muggle world has thrown a whizbang into all our plans. Perhaps Harry doesn't understand what happens when his mother's spell weakens."

The whisper of feet pacing on plush carpet filled Harry's ears.

"And whose fault is that?" came Snape's waspish reply.

Albus sighed. "I couldn't bear letting young Harry know Tom could attack him each year because his mother's protection spell weakened as he stayed away from this place."

Snape harrumphed. "Instead of sending him home at Christmas with all the other students?"

"I couldn't. You know that. The Dursleys refused to allow him to ruin their Christmas." Outrage sharpened Dumbledore's voice into diamond-hard knives. "The protection spell would have been invalidated if I'd sent him home under those conditions." Albus's voice grew soft. "And I couldn't bear to take the holiday away from him."

The couch squeaked as Snape threw himself onto it. "That boy doesn't need coddling - that will be the death of him yet! I swear, Albus, If you weren't just a portrait I'd try to shake some sense into you."

"If that didn't work when I was with you, my dear boy, it won't work now." Albus sighed. "I wish I could help you more. We'll just have to hope Harry shows up soon, else I fear for the Order and his friends."

"And where exactly are you?" Snape's voice held a sly note that caused the portrait Albus to laugh.

"Even I don't know where Fawkes took my newborn self. Wheedling won't get you anywhere. You'll see me eleven years from now at Hogwarts like the rest of the staff."

Even Harry could hear the amusement in the headmaster's voice, and he held his breath to hear every word better. Maybe Hermione was right!

"How…optimistic of you." Snape replied.

A mock note of pain entered Dumbledore's voice. "That I'll be accepted at Hogwarts?"

More squeaks issued from the couch Snape rested on. "No!" he almost growled, anger threading through his voice now. "The chance of my living through this war are abysmal, as you very well know, Although why you of all people need to go back to first year…"

"Oh, Severus." All levity left Dumbledore's voice. "I've done all in my power to help you live. I still will." False cheer leavened his voice. "My newborn self will need a mentor, you know. I know of no one better than you. With Fawkes putting a block on my memories till I reach an age my mind can handle them, I'm just as susceptible to the foolish mistakes of youth as any other. I know of no one I'd rather have guide me."

Silence filled the room, punctuated only by Snape's slow, deep breathing. When the potions master spoke, his voice sounded tight and rougher than his usual smooth tones. "So I'll look for a red-headed boy who can turn into a phoenix, then?"

Dumbledore's tiny laugh held a world of relief in it. "I won't know how to reach my animagus yet. This burning day thing is a new adventure for me."

Harry could picture his mentor reaching for a lemon drop to pop in his mouth as he twinkled at Severus Snape. Distracted for a moment, Harry wondered if a bowl of lemon drops had been painted into the headmaster's portrait.  
A long thoughtful pause followed, and elation filled Harry as he had time to think about the implications of an Albus Dumbledore that still lived, even if as a newborn baby. Harry remembered how ugly Fawkes looked on a burning day – just like a plucked, scrawny chicken. Dumbledore had looked equally haggard in his old age, with his papery, wrinkled skin and blackened arm. He hoped that young baby Albus looked better than the reborn Fawkes. As a wide grin stretched from ear to ear, Harry heard one last thing.

"Any last, impossible instructions, Albus?"

"Live your life and make your own choices, my dear boy. I'm just a portrait now."

"My own choices," Snape's voice was deceptively calm, and Harry tensed as years of potions classes told him an insult or some such witticism would inevitably follow. "Perhaps I'll break my wand, throw myself on the Dark Lord's mercy, and tell him the true secret of immortality."

A delighted laugh rang out. "If Tom had a magical animagus, it would be a dementor, Where's my handkerchief? I haven't laughed this hard in years." Dumbledore chuckled again before sobering. "No, I don't think he'll be chosen by a phoenix. His heart is too black - has known too little love - to be pure enough for a phoenix."

"And where did that glorified chicken of yours disappear to?" Snape asked, his tone deceptively casual.

"Ah, now, Severus, I may be old, but I'm not senile yet! You can't finagle out of me where my newborn self is that easily. Once Fawkes was assured my rebirth went as expected, he delivered me to my new human home and went on to his next great adventure. After enough burning days, my animagus form will become permanent. Then I'll bond with someone as Fawkes did and this line of phoenixes will continue in this world."

Harry's eyes widened in the dark. If phoenixes used wizards to reproduce by making an animagus magical, who had Fawkes been originally?

Snape interrupted Harry's racing thoughts. "The Dark Lord molting. Isn't that an image to inspire terror in the hearts of all magical beings?"

As their conversation devolved into idle chit chat, Harry let the extendable ear drop to the floor and concentrated on keeping his limbs still. He couldn't allow his excitement to betray him into discovery.

One phrase reverberated throughout him. Dumbledore lived! He lived somewhere as a tiny baby. Harry breathed freely for the first time in weeks as he felt the weight of self-inflicted blame lift from his shoulders. He saw once again in his mind's eye the weak, piteous headmaster begging Harry to not make him drink the potion in the cave, but then he banished it with an image of a healthy, bright-eyed newborn, a sprinkling of red hair crowning his head.

Elation filled Harry as he realized he hadn't been responsible for the Dumbledore's death after all.

To be continued…

A/N Special thanks to PsykoJinx for her suggestions that made this chapter better! And thanks to everyone who gave me their thoughts on if Dumbledore should live or die. For those of you who don't want Dumbledore to take over everything – don't worry, he won't! Harry and his friends will have to make their choices on their own, at least in this story.


	35. Chapter 34

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling...

From the last chapter

_One phrase reverberated throughout him. Dumbledore lived! He lived somewhere as a tiny baby. Harry breathed freely for the first time in weeks as he felt the weight of self-inflicted blame lift from his shoulders. He saw once again in his mind's eye the weak, piteous headmaster begging Harry to not make him drink the potion in the cave, but then he banished it with an image of a healthy, bright-eyed newborn, a sprinkling of red hair crowning his head._

_Elation filled Harry as he realized he hadn't been responsible for the Dumbledore's death after all._

Chapter 34

"Harry, can you get a bit of Professor Snape's hair tonight?" Hermione asked just before she, Ginny, and Ron sent him off for the night. "That's the last thing I need before I convert RAB's locket into an imperius and loyalty clock for him."

"How did you manage to combine those two things into one, Hermione?" Ron asked.

Hermione curled a lock of her hair around one finger and smiled, pleased with Ron's question. "There were a few complications. I etched the nauthiz rune on the back of the hour hand and combined it with a changing color charm," she paused for a moment, searching Ron's face to see if he was following her. "Basically, the hour hand turns red if they're under _imperius_, while the minute hand points to where their loyalty lies. See?"

Hermione pulled out a chain with a silver watch tarnished with age hanging from it. She flipped open the lid, and Harry saw a picture of himself attached to the minute hand swirling around the clock , pointing first to _The Order_, then _Friends_, before finally bouncing back and forth between _Harry Potter_ and _Self_. Harry couldn't stop the color that flooded his cheeks. That watch made him look like a real prat. At least the hour hand gleamed black, and the minute hand never went near the _You Know Who, Death Eater, _or _Ministry of Magic_ categories.

Of course, it didn't touch on _family_ at all, either. Hopefully that was because he had no living close relatives. The Dursleys didn't count.

"Excellent," Harry managed to get out around his embarrassment. Then, to distract his friends from his reaction, he reached out toward the watch and asked, "Where did you get my hair for that?" He didn't remember her snatching a chunk of his hair. She couldn't have done it while he was asleep at the Dursleys!

Hermione danced back, pulling the watch out of his reach. "Mr. Ollivander gave me the extra he didn't use in his wands for the goblins.

_Great,_ Harry grumbled to himself. _Hermione will skin me alive if that hair - magically enhanced with my contract with the goblins - messes up her prototype. Because that's just my luck._

Harry directed the conversation away from his hair. Hopefully Ollivander warned her. If not, he didn't want to attract any attention to it. "I suppose I should just waltz up to Dumbledore's murderer and ask him for a lock of his hair? Tell him that I'm a big fan of his?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, exasperated. "I don't see why you call him that. The headmaster didn't die!"

Harry shrugged. "Maybe Snape cast a confundus charm on the headmaster's portrait." As wonderful as it was that Dumbledore could really be alive, he wanted to test Snape's loyalty first. He'd never forgive himself if Snape betrayed him and everyone in the manor to Tom.

Hermione disagreed. "The headmaster's portrait has been awfully helpful with the watches for days. Professor Dumbledore trusted Professor Snape, maybe we should too."

Ron sided with Harry. "Too much hangs in the balance to be wrong about this. What if Snape polyjuiced Wormtail into the headmaster?"

Ginny spoke up. "I agree. And maybe Snape is loyal, but under the _imperius." _Ginny raised one eyebrow at Hermione. "Constant vigilance, after all."

Harry glanced at Ginny and then Hermione. Something wasn't quite right between those two. "Did you get to try any experiments today?" He asked Ginny. Perhaps a distraction would work.

Ginny wrinkled her nose at him and held up darkly stained hands. "The fish decomposed faster. So fast it seeps into the skin."

Harry's nose twitched. Now he could identify the subtle smell growing stronger in the enclosed space of the apparition room. Fish guts. Rotting fish guts. "That's one way to get people to give you space."

"Very funny, Harry James Potter," she reached forward and ruffled his hair. "Let's see you get rid of the smell!"

Harry elevated his nose in his best imitation of Aunt Petunia. "I'm sure my cleaning charms are up to the task."

A smile played around Ginny's mouth. "I'm glad you think so. _My _cleaning charm is better than my bat bogey hex, and you can still smell it." She leaned forward and whispered in his ear. "Sleep well."

Ginny turned on her heel and left, waving as she went through the door.

Harry swallowed as he stared at her retreating form. Since her brothers dreaded her bat-bogey hex, his cleaning charms had no hope of getting rid of the reek now embedded in his hair. He suspected Ginny had found a new product the twins would find useful in their search for a new weapon. He could picture the headlines now: "You-Know-Who Asphyxiates Self After Exposure to Magically Amplified Rotting Fish Guts."

Harry shook his head at his own thoughts and waved goodbye to his friends.

Silence fell over the apparition room for but a moment.

"I can get Harry Potter sir some hair from Professor Snape." Dobby once again startled Harry. He'd been so quiet while he'd been talking with his friends.

"How?" he asked.

Dobby smiled a toothy grin. "I will find all of the hairs. Your family has short hair. Professor Snape has long hair. And my eyes can see in the dark." He pointed at his green eyes.

Huh. Maybe that's why house elves clean at night. Harry remembered Dobby's eyes gleaming in the dark of his cupboard under the stairs, reflecting the small amount of light coming In under the door. "Can you do it with no magic, then?"

For a moment Dobby's excitement at a new way to help Harry left his face. He nodded his head. "Yes." His ears drooped downward.

"Excellent, Dobby"

Dobby perked up, beamed at Harry, and reached out to take wink them the cupboard under the stairs.

In the early hours of the morning, sounds reverberating down Harry's extendable ear woke him. His muscles ached with tension as Snape moved through his early morning routine with agonizing slowness. He breathed shallowly through his nose. The smell of fish guts in the tiny enclosed space was nearly overpowering, and he didn't understand why his nose hadn't gotten used to it.

After Snape ate what must have been another cold dinner in the moonlight streaming through the kitchen windows, he went to the parlor and took out Dumbledore's portrait.

"Things are rapidly spiraling out of control, Albus." Weariness threaded through Snape's voice.

For a moment, Harry heard nothing. Then Snape continued.

"The Dark Lord's hiring death eaters at the ministry as food procurement agents. They've already started raiding the muggles."

Harry heard Albus's voice for the first time since that morning. "And what role are you playing in all this, my dear boy?"

"The honor of being your _dear boy_ rests with Harry bloody Potter, as anyone could tell you!" Anger invigorated Snape's voice, and Harry had to pull the extendable ear away for a moment.

"...if Harry can have two homes, then why can't I have two boys who are dear to me?" Albus's soft voice met a snort from Snape.

"That boy has more homes than most people have family. His aunt's, Hogwarts, the Weasley's rickety shack...it's a miracle Lily's protection spell works at all."

"Many people have many homes. You have two, yourself."

Snape made a sound of disgust. "Spinner's End hardly counts."

"And neither does Hogwarts, now that it's locked down." The headmaster's comment prompted a laugh from the dour potions master.

"I didn't think the old biddy had it in her."

"Severus." The slowly drawn out warning from Albus was met with silence, followed by squeaks as Snape shifted around in the old plush armchair near the fireplace. Vernon's favorite chair hadn't been up to the task of holding his bulk without damage to the wooden frame.

Snape changed the subject. "The Dark Lord was utterly pleased about the lockdown, once he ascertained no living thing could break through the charm. His public persona as minister was absolutely enraged, of course. But in private he said he would have applied the lockdown charm years ago if he'd known about it."

Harry could have heard a pin drop. No doubt Tom Riddle would have cast it during a term. Killing hundreds of children would appeal to a madman like him. _He's not so mad anymore, _Harry reminded himself. _Thanks to you._

Snape sniffed once, then twice. Harry heard footsteps enter the hallway, and he tensed further, not daring to breath. He'd forgotten about the reek from his hair. The smell was so thick in his cupboard he could almost touch it.

"Something's rotting in this house. It can't be natural."

Sniffs came from the painting, followed by a sheepish chuckle. "Do you suspect something magical?"

Snape blew his breath out. "The ministry hasn't swooped down upon us, so if it was magic, it wasn't done here."

A tiny hand shook Harry's shoulder. He popped his eyes open and froze as he felt Dobby's head come near and whisper, "Your hair needs cleaning?"

Harry shook his head hard. "No!" Visions of a hovering charm dropping a pudding during the Dursley's dinner party the summer before second year filled his memory. The resulting warning from the ministry had let the Dursleys know Harry couldn't do magic during the summer. With his luck, in addition to alerting the ministry, this growing dead fish smell would only get worse with a cleaning charm, not better, just like the Weasley's whizbang fireworks.

For a moment, he wondered if the twins had tampered with Ginny's experiment today. He'd have to have stern words with them. Though he was sure they'd either plead innocent or protest that rotting fish odor would drop a rampaging giant in its tracks, let alone attacking death eaters, and was thus in line with their assigned weapons research. Harry smiled to himself and returned his attention to the conversation outside his cupboard.

"Any luck finding Petunia, Severus?"

"No sign of her or her great lump of a husband. That's a pair I would be happy to raid as a food procurement agent, if I didn't already have the great _honor_ of doling out the stolen food in miserly packages."

Harry entirely agreed with the snarl at the end of that statement.

"We need her to stay alive for the protection spell," Dumbledore reminded.

"I know, " a singsong note of mock delight entered Snape's voice. "Why don't we give her the draught of living death, toss her into this house, shrink it, and throw it wherever Potter's staying? Then I wouldn't have to stay here each night waiting for that brat to show up."

_That,_ Harry thought_, is a brilliant plan._

* * *

Kingsley Shacklebolt raised his arm and knocked on the thick wooden door in front of him, triumph running through him as his days-long search for the Lovegoods finally reached completion. He had no doubt the ministry had instituted a capture order for the ministry's newest renegade auror. Kingsley laughed to himself, a bitter edge sharpening the humor.

He hadn't dared contact the Order for help finding the address, not with what he was about to do. He had to cover his tracks here first. If his alternate wand fell into the ministry hands, they might be able to trace the communication patronus he would have used back to the Potter Manor. Instead, the prime minister of Britain had been invaluable in his search through muggle records in London. The Lovegoods had made a splash a few years back when they broke into the London Zoo's cage of a rare aardvark they claimed was a Crumple-horned snorkack that had lost its horn, or some such nonsense. Security detained them and procured their name and address, but the form documenting the incident contained nothing else save a long, jerky line running off the page. Kingsley suspected someone had applied a memory charm to the security team at that point. _Thank goodness for bureaucracy, _he thought. The half-filled form had been filed and forgotten. The hunt for their address could have taken weeks without this form and if Kingsley hadn't remembered the Lovegood's proclivity for trying to find new magical animals in the strangest of places.

He was just grateful that the small office at the zoo had been spared the fires still raging around London, filling the air with a heavy soot that blackened every surface and lingered in his lungs. He couldn't say the same for the zoo's exotic inhabitants. At least the smoke covered that smell.

Shaking the memory off, Kingsley raised his arm to knock again, but stopped as an explosion echoing from inside was accompanied by a howl of triumph.

"Exploding ink! The next issue of the Quibbler will be a blast! Don't you agree, Luna? Luna? Where did you go...oh there you are. Why did you bury yourself under that rubbish?"

Kingsley repressed a snort of laughter. Only Xenophilius Lovegood would think exploding ink a fantastic idea for a newspaper. He rapped on the door and heard a clatter of feet rushing to open it.

Xenophilius cracked the door open, peering out with one blue eye. "Yes? Kingsley Shacklebolt, I believe?"

"Indeed." Kingsley's deep voice was grave. "I have some vital information to share with the magical world. Could I impose on your newspaper to deliver a public service announcement?"

"Of course! Come in, then! Come in! You're just in time for the evening edition." Xenophilius opened the door and waved them into the kitchen. "And who is your friend, good sir?"

Kingsley put a hand out, gesturing the prime minister to silence. "Just a friend."

Xenophilius turned around and called up the spiraling staircase dominating the center of the house. "Luna, bring the recording quill down here, won't you?" The kitchen encompassed the whole first floor, cabinets and tables curving along the circular wall to maximize the space.

Luna floated down the stairs, a sheaf of parchment in her hand with a quill tucked behind her ear. "Here you go, Mr. Shacklebolt. Just sit over at that table and talk at the quill, it will do the rest. The command word is _suscipio stilus_. Don't mind the wrackspurts, they tend to infest every quill we get."

Kingsley eyed the quill without touching it. "And what is the command to stop recording?"

"Oh!" She gave a breathy laugh, her eyes focused distantly on a point over his shoulder, almost as if she were looking at something Kingsley couldn't see. "_Terminus stilus."_

_The things I do for the Order_, Kingsley thought, taking the quill and parchment from her. After commanding the quill to begin and gesturing the wide-eyed prime minister toward a seat, he dictated the events at Hogwarts two days prior, from Minerva's proof that Alrick Armstrong was not who he said he was, to the suspicious actions of the aurors who had privately visited with the minister. He decided to not include Harry Potter's evidence. Unfortunately, the previous ministers had done their work too well, and many of the wizarding populace considered the boy an attention-seeking liar. Kingsley grimaced, regretting that he hadn't been able to change that.

He leaned back in the chair in a deceptively relaxed pose as he finished his public service announcement. His eyes scanned the room for all potential entrances and exits. The first floor wasn't defensible, he noted. Nearly the entire ground floor was ringed in windows that could easily be blown out, and flying glass would create a hazard to those inside. The stairs, though, would narrow an advancing force's attack nicely.

Xenophilius bounced over and scanned Kingsley's work. "Excellent! Excellent! Alrick Armstrong dead. The new minister is really You-Know-Who. That makes perfect sense."

Kingsley glanced at him in askance. "It does?"

"Of course it does, my good man!" Xenophilius ascended the spiral staircase to the second floor, with Kingsley and the prime minister following close behind. "After the ministry's cover up over Sirius Black, I'd believe anything!"

"That was a sad affair," Kingsley agreed.

"The world deserved to know that Stubby Boardman was really Sirius Black."

Kingsley looked heavenward but said nothing. Xenophilius had a reputation for unusual ideas. His eyes instead scanned the second floor. A printing press stood in the middle of room, blank sheets of paper stacked in haphazard piles next to it.

He turned to the prime minister. "It would be best if you didn't touch anything." Kingsley restrained an impulse to examine what looked like a rare, unexploded erumpant horn on the wall. An excellent weapon if used carefully.

The prime minister followed his gaze and swallowed at the sight of the huge, curved horn glittering like a rainbow in the sunlight. "That might be for the best," he said, his voice faint.

"It's too bad we can't use the exploding ink on this issue," Xenophilius mourned. "It would have added a certain zing to experience."

Kingsley made a note to himself to avoid the Quibbler till Luna's father found out that customers might in fact dislike having newspapers explode while they read.

Xenophilius fed the master copy into the top of the printing press, fiddled with a few knobs, and tapped it with his wand. The press groaned and shook as it pulled in paper after paper. In a short time, the first copy of Kingsley's public service announcement popped out and disappeared, while the rest piled themselves in stacks according to their final destination around England.

"Impressive," Kingsley said. He'd seen the work involved in muggle printing presses, and this was truly phenomenal.

"My wife and I modified an old press from the Daily Prophet. It's a fine piece of magic if I do say so myself."

As the two men tied newspapers to hundreds of owls parading in front of an open window with a wide ledge, Kingsley noted that each newspaper had the name of the recipient written in script on the front page. _Xenophilius may be a touch mad, but he's a genius with __charms_.

Several hours after he arrived, Kingsley wiped his hands on his cloak, satisfaction thrumming through him as the last owl flew off into the deepening purple sunset.

"Dad, I've finished packing our things!" Luna's voice echoed in the silence as she descended from her bedroom on the third floor.

Kingsley turned around sharply in shock. He'd not extended an offer of asylum to the Lovegoods, although he was sure Harry would be happy to house his friend and her father.

"Where are we going, my dear?" Xenophilius asked with mild curiosity, as if this was an everyday occurrence. And perhaps it was. They were known for their frequent magical animal sighting trips.

"With Mr. Shacklebolt here." She looked around with a sad smile at her home.

"But we're doing just fine here on our own, my dear. And how will we move the press?" Xenophilius asked, clearly not liking the idea of leaving.

Luna sighed and looked at Kingsley. "The first copy off any magical press goes directly to the ministry. That was two hours ago."

Kingsley remembered the first copy off the press disappearing, and he shook his head at his own foolishness. He shouldn't have let himself be distracted by the enhanced charms on the printing press. He strode to the owl-loading window and searched the landscape around the house. "We haven't much time. The minister will want to catch us and force a retraction."_ Or worse_, he added to himself. He had no doubt the new minister would stop at nothing to consolidate his power over magical Britain. The power of disseminating information would be the bedrock of his administration.

For the first time, the prime minister of Britain spoke up. "I'm afraid it's too late." He pointed out the small window on the opposite side of the room. "A bunch of chaps with wooden sticks have just popped in."

Kingsley rushed across the room. Seven aurors fanned out around the bottom of the hill. He stifled an urge to groan. They had only a few minutes before they were trapped.

To be continued...


	36. Chapter 35

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

From the last chapter:

_For the first time, the prime minister of Britain spoke up. "I'm afraid it's too late." He pointed out the small window on the opposite side of the room. "A bunch of chaps with wooden sticks have just popped in."_

_Kingsley rushed across the room. Seven aurors fanned out around the bottom of the hill. He stifled an urge to groan. They had only a few minutes before they were trapped._

Chapter 35

"Dear me, dear me," Xenophilius muttered as he looked over Kingsley's shoulder at the spreading aurors below. "Perhaps if I offer them tea, we can sort this out like civilized people."

Kingsley opened his mouth to reply, but could find no way to persuade the eccentric man next to him the aurors looked more likely to shoot spells first and ask questions later. He shook his head and drew his wand. "Do you have any brooms-"

"THIS IS AUROR DAWLISH. TURN IN KINGSLEY SHACKLEBOLT AND YOU WILL NOT BE HARMED."

Kingsley winced as the magically amplified voice shook the walls of the rook-shaped house. He'd never been on the receiving end of that particular spell, and he could now testify as to its effectiveness. His three companions looked terrified. Well, perhaps not Luna. She was calmly rifling through her trunk, butterbeer caps spilling onto the floor as she rooted through her clothing.

Butterbeer caps! Kingsley scooped up a large handful of the things, ran over to the still open owl-loading window, and began tossing the caps in the air. He hit each one with an engorgement charm. Then, as the cap expanded to the size of a small horse, he cast in rapid succession a sharpening charm he used daily on his shaving razor and an attraction charm, concentrating carefully during the latter spell on the shining auror's badge. Every active auror was required to one wear on his official robes. Kingsley's grin turned savage for a moment. He'd left his badge and work robes back at his flat.

One bottle cap after another hit the ground and rolled after the aurors. Panicking, aurors dove to the side while casting exploding charms to blew holes in the caps, but that didn't stop them. The smart aurors rolled to their feet immediately and continued blasting away at the caps.

All of them weren't smart.

"I'll have to remember that use for bottle caps. Did you know they make excellent jewelry?" Luna asked.

Kingsley let out a bark of laughter. "We have a few more minutes, now." As he spoke, he attempted to apparate to the other side of the room, without luck. "Anti-apparation spells are in place. We might be able to escape on broom if we've got two here."

Luna shook her head. "That's what I was searching for. We had brooms, but on our last trip we left them by a tree." She shrugged. "Two piles of ash were all that was left when we came back."

Xenophilius nodded his head vigorously. "No doubt the crumple-horned snorkack drained all the the magic out of it. All the life, even."

Kingsley sucked in a deep breath between his teeth. A simple _no_ would have done the job. He'd asked a question, yes, but they seemed to have no concept of how little time they had. He glanced out the window. His bottle caps were still spinning toward the nearest auror's badge they could find, albeit a touch wobbly. Holes littered the caps, and smoke belched upward from a few of them.

As he turned back, he saw Claxton Proudfoot tearing off his auror's robes as he ran, tumbled, and rolled out of the way of the razor sharp edges of a particularly persistent bottle cap. He didn't have long before the rest followed suit.

For good measure, Kingsley tossed out a few more caps and enchanted them, his mind racing to figure out a way to move three inexperienced people – one of whom was a muggle.

A stray though flittered through his mind for a brief moment. _If only this house had legs, like the house of the witch Baba Yaga, then I could tell it to move forward._ Exhilaration at the fantastical notion made his blood pump faster through his veins, and he whirled around. "Xenophilius, is your house magical enough that we can transfigure limbs onto it?"

Often the dwelling places of magical inhabitants tended to become a bit magical themselves. Hogwarts was a prime example of this. Generations of young magical folk had slowly raised the magic level in the building to the point the castle could shift the stairways herself.

Xenophilius raised his eyebrows with surprise. "It should be. This house used to be a wizarding chess rook after all, but it's magical energy to move ran out. I first had this house down by the stream near the village. The muggles were a bit perturbed when I moved this beauty up here, but the ministry took care of that! The house barely made it up the hill before the magic in it expired."

Kingsley barely gave a thought to the havoc the Lovegoods must have wreaked throughout the muggle countryside that day. He turned to Luna. "Stand to the side of those stairs and _stupefy_ anyone who comes up." He knew she'd had experience fighting with Harry. If he'd asked her father, he most likely would invite the aurors to tea instead.

Luna nodded and pulled her wand out from behind her ear, slipped next to the stairs and stared intently at the curving wall of the staircase. Kingsley nodded with approval. With the amount of sunlight streaming in through the downstairs windows, anyone coming up the spiral staircase would advertise their presence with a shadow.

As Kingsley turned back to Xenophilius, his eyes narrowed as they fell on the glittering erumpant horn. Not many knew that erumpant liquid was explosive due to the high concentration of magic stored in the viscous gel inside. If they could get the house to recharge on that magic without blowing up, they just might get out of this alive.

He explained his plan to Xenophilius, who exclaimed with childlike enthusiasm at the challenge involved. Kingsley repressed an aggravated sigh. After all, he got the Lovegoods into this situation. It was his responsibility to help them out. At least the prime minister knew enough of his helplessness in this magical situation to avoid bothering him.

Xenophilius tapped the area around the erumpant horn with his wand while speaking to himself. "Hmm. A magical conduit between the horn and the house. It's already mounted on the wall. If I remove the wood behind it and fuse the actual horn into the wall itself without jostling it, this horn here from a crumple-horned snorkack might save us all!"

Kingsley rolled his eyes at his insistence it was from the crumple-horned snorkack and moved to the stairs. With his wand at the ready to stun any auror creeping up the stairs, his ears strained to hear any sounds from the house below. A small squeak from door hinges followed by a quiet thud confirmed his suspicions. There was at least one auror in the house.

The sharp sound of metal on stone followed by a reverberating thunk when that same large object embedded itself into the door made him smile. Opening the door would be exceedingly difficult now, especially if they were lucky enough that the bottle cap rammed into both the door and the door frame. They'd figure out how to get out later.

He caught Luna's eye and gestured toward her trunk with his free hand. "Draught of living death!" He whispered, almost inaudibly. Her eyes looked confused for a moment before widening in comprehension. As she hurried away, he focused again on the wrought-iron staircase in front of him. Aiming carefully, he transfigured the surface of the dark railing into highly polished silver.

The flicker of a shadow reflected off the newly polished silver, and Kingsley threw himself to the ground. As luck would have it, he'd shaved his head that morning. The lack of an extra inch of hair saved him as a red beam reflected off the railing, nearly skimmed the bare surface of his head and smashed into the wall behind him.

Thankfully, the erumpant horn was not on the wall opposite the stairs, else little bits of him and his fellow fugitives would be landing near the Weasley and Diggory houses right about now.

Kingsley finished his fall and landed hard on the ground with his wand arm extended, the air whooshing out of his lungs on impact. He didn't make any effort to quiet the noise. If he sounded stunned, the ruse might fool Claxton, who'd never been cautious enough. Perhaps that wasn't his fault - he hadn't been trained by Mad-eye Moody, after all.

Sure enough, he saw Claxton Proudfoot's distorted reflection in a bit of the polished silver railing at the same time another _stupefy_ shot harmlessly over his head. Kingsley cast a silent _stupefy_ back at the slowly moving reflection. His stunner was too wide for the delicate curling decorations of the stairway rail. Part of the moving red beam passed through the decorative work, while part of the spell hit the metal squarely and reflected off at an angle at the lone auror.

Several thuds sounded as Claxton rolled down the stairs and landed in a heap. Kingsley carefully examined the distorted reflections on the transfigured metal as he crept downward. Claxton was indeed alone. He cast a locking charm on the door, stupefied the auror at his feet again to ensure he got a full dose of the spell, and ran back upstairs. If the aurors broke the windows to get in, he'd have to do this all over again. He had to take care of them quickly.

Just as he caught a glimpse of the second floor landing a dark blur caused Kingsley to duck to the side. A pewter dragon paper weight smashed against his shoulder. Not expecting friendly fire, he threw himself on the stairs as he called out, "It's me, Kingsley!"

The prime minister cleared his throat sheepishly. "I'm terribly sorry. Just trying to take precautions, you know."

Yes, Kingsley did know. He ignored the soreness from his bruised shoulder. He supposed he was lucky that Xenophilius hadn't chucked the erumpant horn at him.

"Here's our draught of sleeping death." Luna announced and held out two small flasks to him as he stepped out onto the second floor. Clothes and books littered the ground around her school trunk. "There's not enough for all of us to take, though."

Kingsley smiled at her. "It's not for us." He grabbed the bottles and sprinted to the open owl-ledge window. With a glance he checked that the window could be securely shut and locked. That would be crucial for his plan. He tapped one potion bottle while whispering a time-delayed explosion charm and tossed it out the window near several regrouping aurors.

He laughed out loud as Dawlish shot a _reducto _at the potion, exploding it prematurely and showering the group with a fine mist of draught. Kingsley slammed shut the window and watched as Dawlish took one breath, then two, swayed woozily to one side and fell face forward in the thick grass.

Without waiting to watch the others, Kingsley rushed to the other window and tossed out the second bottle near the last group of aurors. He'd been lucky that he'd caught them while they were regrouping. If they had spread out again, the draught of living death mist might have been too diluted to have an effect. As it was, this would only knock them out for a short time. The sopophorous bean in the brew had that effect, whether inhaled or swallowed. For once, Kingsley was grateful to Horace Slughorn for his potion classes decades ago.

This time, the second bottle hit the ground before exploding on impact. He'd miscalculated how long it took for a the bottle to fall. Thankfully, the other three aurors lost consciousness, although Savage managed to nearly make it to the house before collapsing.

He turned around as Xenophilius let out a shout of triumph. "It worked?"

"Yes, my good man, it worked!" Xenophilius threw both arms up in the air in his excitement. "Look, you can see the transfer of the magical energy from the horn to the house!"

Kingsley looked closer. The iridescent glitter of the horn indeed was transferring to the house, but slowly. As he watched, the sparkle inched outward. "Perhaps we should abandon the house. It may take longer than we have to rejuvenate the magical energy lines of the house."

Xenophilius gasped with dismay. "How will we disseminate information to the good public if we abandon it? Are you that ready to give up the good fight?"

_I'd rather escape with my life intact, thank you very much. _Kingsley was a bit irritated at the intimation of cowardice. "If you can speed up the transfer, then I'll see what I can do." He sighed. He had to figure out what to do with his friends, anyway. The public needed protectors, but at this rate, they'd need protection from the aurors themselves. Unless he took them with him. But then Kingsley would have to pick up their families, else they'd be used as hostages against the aurors by Voldemort.

"Excellent! I'll just send a message off to the Diggorys to tell them to prepare for pick up. Let's say, half an hour?"

Kingsley wanted to groan and hide his head in his hands. Dealing with Xenophilius was like trying to corral a heard of rampaging hippogriffs. It was impossible. He managed to keep his face straight as he said, "Why the Diggorys?"

"They're my neighbors, of course. Very good people. It was horribly sad when their son died, killed by You-Know-Who. I'm sure they want to fight him." As Xenophilius spoke, he waved his wand in a complicated runic pattern over the erumpant horn. Instead of inching along, the glittering light began flooding out by the yard.

"We still have to figure out transport to where we're going," Kingsley called over his shoulder as he took the stairs two-by-two.

"No problem! We'll just take the house!" Xenophilius' voice floated downstairs as Kingsley prepared to break a window to retrieve the aurors. "This rook had invisibility charms on it before I turned it into a house. It was part of a disappearing chess set some wizard used to bait muggles. If that charm hadn't lost it's power before I finished moving this place the first time, the ministry would never have had to obliviate all those muggles!"

Kingsley shook his head as he quickly tied up and gathered the aurors, floating them one by one into the house with _mobilicorpus. _A few bandages stemmed the worst of the bleeding on the aurors unfortunate enough to have direct contact with the enhanced butterbeer caps. What Harry Potter would think when he showed up with all these people, their families, and a house in tow, he had no idea. He just hoped they had enough food to feed everyone there.

He repaired the window and then stumbled as the house shuddered and raised itself off its foundation. _Houses shouldn't move like this_, Kingsley told himself as the house glided slowly down the hill in the direction of the Diggorys.

He looked out the front window and braced himself for impact. A boulder loomed in front of him. Kingsley lost his feet entirely as the house took a quick jog to the right before straightening out. Plates flew out of the kitchen cupboards on the wall and smashed to the ground, littering the floor with debris.

Luna jogged down the stairs. "What an excellent ride this is!" She flicked her wand and repaired the dishes, sending them back into the cupboards and locking the doors.

This time Kingsley really did groan. This was worse than riding the Knight bus. The thought of traveling hundreds of miles in this thing turned his stomach. "Can we raise this thing up a bit? Like a hundred feet?" In his mind's eye, he could see the havoc the invisible house would leave in its wake. Downed power lines, broken telephone poles. Not that it mattered to the muggles with their electricity out. But that trail of devastation could lead an alert wizard right to them.

"Of course!" Xenophilius' voice trickled down the stairs. "After we leave the Diggorys, I'll raise this pretty little thing high up in the air. It can even fly on its side, you know!"

Kingsley cast about for a good place to strap himself in – the silver stair railing seemed promising. He was beginning to regret his impulse to inform the wizarding populace of just who Alrick Armstrong really was.

To be continued...


	37. Chapter 36

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

From the last chapter

_"Of course!" Xenophilius' voice trickled down the stairs. "After we leave the Diggorys, I'll raise this pretty little thing high up in the air. It can even fly on its side, you know!"_

_ Kingsley cast about for a good place to strap himself in – the silver stair railing seemed promising. He was beginning to regret his impulse to inform the wizarding populace of just who Alrick Armstrong really was. _

Chapter 36

A tabby cat with tortoise shell markings around the eyes perched on the dull stone wall separating the Dursley's house from its neighbors. Quiet, poised, and absolutely still, the cat might have been mistaken for a painted statue from a distance.

After hours of still observance, the cat nodded her head once, leaped off the fence, and fluidly transformed in Minerva McGonagall. She stretched her stiff joints, not sure if she should be upset or not with Harry's exuberance this morning that led to her current situation. Moving the Dursley house to the manor had the advantage of safety for Harry while he slept there - that was certain - but she could have gone another sixteen years without sitting on that stone wall.

Minerva nodded to herself and strode closer to the empty neighbor's house in front of her. While Bill Weasley didn't think the wards detecting magic use extended beyond the Dursley property, it was best to be safely away from the fence.

With a quick glance around to ensure no muggles watched from other yards, she cast her patronus charm and instructed the playful white cat to deliver the all clear message to Augusta Longbottom. Minerva sniffed, indignant. She had no doubt she could move one muggle family out of their house without any backup. She'd been contacting muggle families for decades, after all.

She was satisfied that this particular house held no occupants, but that wasn't the case with the Dursley's other neighbor. She'd caught several glimpses of cowering muggles peeking out between the upper floor curtain slits, pinched faces appearing for but a moment.

Minerva pitied them. At least she'd be rescuing them from this miserable existence. Hopefully.

While she waited for the manor's esteemed resource manager – she curled her lip wryly at the thought – she would search the empty house to ensure her observations were correct. She supposed muggles might be hiding in the cupboard under the stairs, although she deemed that unlikely. Harry had said a family of five lived here, and they wouldn't all fit in that cramped space.

She tapped the lock on the back door and whispered, "_Alohomora." _The lock clicked and she pushed the door open. Darkness greeted her eyes, and Minerva paused while adjusting to the dim evening light filtering through the frilly white kitchen curtains.

The sheer scope of the damage in the kitchen held her still. Someone had pulled all of the cupboards our of their fittings, and splintered wood littered the floor. Perhaps someone hoped a false back had been installed behind the cupboards to hide a hoard of food. She highly doubted that – most muggles took food for granted and kept only a few days worth on hand. Wizards weren't much better, she admitted to herself, but it took a week or two before they felt the pinch. If she was in charge of Hogwarts after this whole mess ended, she was creating a new class. Food cultivation. Every child she taught from now on would be able to feed themselves when they graduated.

She flicked her wand and cleared a path to the hall, hoping the lack of movement in the house was due to absentee owners. Pictures lay smashed on the hall floor, and she paused for a moment to examine a one of a blond-haired girl in pigtails proudly holding out a music trophy.

Minerva intended to cast a brief glance over the parlor, but one look at the fireplace stopped her. Rather, what was in the fire place. The bookcases near the fireplace were empty, but their contents weren't on the floor. Ash spilled out of the fireplace, with the edge of a partially burnt hardback book poking out.

Metal tins littered the floor. She stooped down and examined one. The black, charred can in her hand might have held any number of tinned fruits or vegetables. Judging by the charred debris in the bottom of the can, the previous inhabitants must have tried to cook with the tin can in the fireplace. The burnt food in the bottom suggested they hadn't been incredibly successful, although she couldn't blame them. Cooking over an open fire was notoriously difficult due to the variations in temperature throughout the fire itself.

She set the can back down in the ashes of the fireplace and continued her search upstairs under beds and in closets, but only empty air and old clothing greeted her. While there simply weren't many places to hide in these small houses, years of practice with her gryffindors had honed a sixth sense for finding unauthorized hiding spots. That sixth sense stopped her now, and she listened and looked around the master bedroom with heightened awareness.

Clutter greeted her eyes. A triangular shelf in one corner with smashed bits of pottery was nearly dwarfed by a large piece of machinery in front of it. It looked like a bike, but she didn't see any wheels. The last time she'd checked, muggle bicycles didn't fly. Her eyes scanned the room, finally lighting on the baseboards near the bed. They looked like they'd been pulled away from the wall at one point, perhaps recently.

She knelt down and pulled the board completely away from the wall, and roll after roll of muggle money spilled out. Minerva frowned as her impulse to put the money back warred with her desire to use it. In any ordinary situation, she'd leave it for the original occupants of the house, but she suspected they weren't coming back.

She scooped up the rolls of money and slid them into her robe's carrying pockets. They'd serve nicely as toilet paper, and she was sick nigh unto death of transfiguring bits of wood into disposable toilet paper for the young children at the manor. She had better things to do with her time.

Her brisk steps echoed down the stairs. She wasn't hurrying, precisely. But it would definitely be rude to make Augusta wait. As she stepped out the back door, she flowed downward into her tabby cat and ran with leaps and bounds to the playground down the street.

Augusta stepped out of the wooded thicket at the back of the playground as Minerva arrived. Concerned that someone might be watching, Minerva turned in a tight circle and saw a curtain twitch in the house across the street.

"Meow!" she commanded Augusta. She ran into the trees, and transformed back into her human shape. Turning around, she forced her voice to remain calm. "There are people in some of these houses. We'd best disillusion ourselves." They couldn't afford to alert any death eaters stationed around here that other magic users were in the area.

Augusta gave a regal nod of her head and smiled. "Excellent idea, my dear."

The older woman's condescending tone brought to Minerva's mind the image of a mother patting her young child on the head in approval. She watched as Augusta disillusioned herself, then she hardened her resolve and pushed away the inadequacy this older woman inspired in her. After all, Minerva had successfully guided hundreds of students to confident adulthood, while Augusta had reduced Neville to a quivering mess by the time he'd reached Hogwarts. That had to count for something. Smiling now to herself, she resumed her cat form.

Within short order, Minerva led Augusta into the backyard of the occupied house next to Harry's. She flowed upwards into human form, pausing for a moment as dizziness assaulted her. Too many transformations too close together disoriented her inner ear. She breathed deeply through her nose to calm the nausea that accompanied it. She simply didn't have time for that.

Without a word, Minerva and Augusta took up their rehearsed places. They had to move these muggles, else they'd be dead before the morning sun was up.

Augusta unlocked and opened the door. Nothing happened. Augusta's lips tightened, and she used a pushing charm to inch the door open and they saw the edge of a couch that had been shoved up behind it. The loud scraping of that couch across the kitchen tile had surely alerted their targets.

Wand at the ready, Minerva squeezed through the door, gleeful that Augusta's vulture hat was too wide to fit through. Minerva had insisted this morning that Augusta leave behind her hat when they met the muggles hiding in the houses. Such a thing would terrify them, no doubt. Besides, no muggle would possess such a hideous hat, she was sure.

Unfortunately, she'd lost that argument when Augusta made a dry comment about the unlikelihood of muggles wearing a tartan plaid business suit. Minerva huffed at the memory. That was a perfectly serviceable suit she'd bought no more than fifty years ago! It had plenty of good wear left in it.

She drew her mind back to the task at hand. She wasn't a school girl anymore, she reminded herself. Far from it. It didn't matter that she was partnered with the teacher that had nearly failed her in her seventh year defense class decades ago.

Sharp whispers from upstairs let her know where her targets were. She slid her wand up her arm, palming it so she could use it in a pinch. Her muscles tensed as she crept up the stairs, a hatless Augusta right behind her.

BOOM!

Minerva ducked belatedly, and bits of sheet rock and plaster showered down on her. She glanced up and around. Speckled holes from shotgun pellets formed a ragged circle above her. Hundreds of tiny holes let her know this wasn't the first time that shotgun had gone off in defense of this home. Eyes wide, she decided it was time to fall back to plan two. Talking first, stunning second. "I'm here to move you to a safe location!"

Silence reigned heavy in the air. Minerva crouched down further still and glanced behind her. Augusta nodded for her to continue.

Minerva tried again. "I'd like to take you to a place that has food and water. And sanitary facilities." Now she knew what that smell was. Their toilet systems had backed up, and they had no where to dispose of their offal unless they were brave enough to bury it in their backyard. Her nose informed her that this family hadn't been that brave.

To be fair, though, they were still alive. That counted for something, although surely disease from the lack of sanitary conditions would set in soon.

She was about to call out again when a male voice, raspy and tired, asked, "How do we know you're not here to steal from us?"

Minerva thought quickly. She had a feeling these muggles would know if they were being lied to. "Because you have a gun and I don't?" She called back. "I brought food we'll share with you as a token of our good faith."

She had hoped they wouldn't have to do that. The manor's store of food was running low, and Neville's wheat was only a few inches high yet. It would be weeks before they'd harvest another carbohydrate crop.

"Come on up, but slowly. Keep your hands in the air."

Minerva heard a female voice protesting their treatment, but that voice was quickly hushed. "We can't trust them!" the male said.

Before advancing, she pulled her package of shelled chestnuts out of her pocket. They had a few dozen bushels left, but they also had a growing number of mouths to feed now that they'd started gathering in Order members and their families. Too bad Neville hadn't figured out a way to get fish to breed faster. Perhaps she should encourage Hagrid to work on that. He'd been moping around the manor bemoaning the loss of his forest friends.

She motioned for Augusta to remain where she was. If Minerva managed to get herself shot, at least Augusta could apparate her to Madame Pomfrey. She slowly raised herself off the stairs and advanced upwards, careful to keep her hands in the air.

"Slowly, now."

Minerva nodded. "We've got chestnuts you're welcome to." She could see the ragged couple now. Grime stained their faces highlighting the tear stains running down their cheeks, but she couldn't blame them for that. Several large plastic buckets with lids stood lined up down one side of the short hallway. Brown and yellow carpet stains surrounded one bucket, and she guessed the smell came from there.

The thin women in front of her – greasy blond hair beginning to show brown roots – hurried forward and snatched the package from her hand. As she retreated, she murmured, "Thank you," while ripping open the brown paper parcel.

Minerva breathed shallowly from her mouth. The stench was much worse in the hallway. If she could, she'd apply the bubblehead charm. Looking like she'd stuck her head in an invisible goldfish bowl might scare the muggles, though.

"Sean, Rachel!" The mother called out softly.

She watched as two children crept out of the room at the end of the hall and slipped around their father. Minerva sucked in her breath, immediately regretting the action as her tongue felt coated with the pungent smell. She swallowed and struggled to control her gag reflex. But the state of the two young children in front of provided an unfortunate distraction.

Although it had only been about two weeks since the world ran out of electricity, these two children looked like they hadn't seen good food in far longer. Their muscles were slack, hardly visible on their thin bones. They licked their cracked lips hungrily as they stared at the package in their mother's hand. They couldn't be more than four or five years old.

"It's best to start them off with small amounts." Minerva struggled to keep her voice even around the heavy lump in her throat. "Else their stomachs will reject it."

Their mother cast a haunted look at Minerva and nodded. She held out three nuts apiece to her children. She didn't take any for herself.

Minerva felt the air stir as an invisible Augusta passed by her. _It's about time,_ she thought and took a step back to give Augusta more room to work with. As her foot came down, it bounced off the the air just above the carpet, and she looked down to hide her surprise.

Augusta must have thoughtfully cast cushioning charms. When she looked up, the father fell forward, followed by the mother and then each child. Each bounced gently as if landing on a giant feather bed, but Minerva would never forget the look of terror on the little girl's face as she saw her parents lose consciousness.

Each woman silently and efficiently packed a few belongings that would help this family survive. Their last few tins of food and bottles of water, plenty of blankets and clothes, kitchen items, a box of matches, and a few toys and books for the children. Then they apparated their bundles and the little family to a selected location in East Anglia – an empty house on the coast along the southern edge of Suffolk county.

Based on her information from Kingsley, this was near the surviving muggle government. Gazing down at the unconscious muggles, Minerva felt troubled. It didn't seem right to leave them here like this, even though they were better off than they'd been in their house.

She squinted at the sea. Perhaps she could summon some fish and clams from the ocean. And salt. They'd need it to preserve their fish. She set to work, Augusta joining her in silent accord. Clams, herring, smelts and eels flew in to form great piles. She wrinkled her nose at that last one. She'd never acquired a taste for eel. One last summoning spell brought in several baskets worth of edible seaweed in varying colors: red, blue, and green. She left a few bundles fresh, but most of the fish and seaweed she dried for later use.

As a final act, she transfigured some twigs into fishing poles, and a few pins into fishing hooks and lures. Hopefully they'd keep their shape long enough to help this family survive.

Once they apparated back to the little family's house, they searched for the gas lines. They had a few hours to prepare to blow two houses up. She'd nearly laughed at Fred and George's plan to hide the missing Dursley house. She could still hear their voices.

"Natural gas explosions happen all the time." George had said earnestly.

"This will just be a mite bigger than the average one." Fred reassured her.

"No one will be able to tell it's just rubble from two houses, not three." They'd both chorused together.

Minerva had insisted on doing this deed herself. Blowing up the two houses – not stealing the Dursley's home. No muggle was going to be killed on her watch, even if they were miscreants. She and Augusta set about casting unbreakable charms on the windows and locking charms on the doors of the houses that would soon be blown to slivers. Then she glanced down at her watch.

Harry Potter and Bill Weasley were late.

To be continued...


	38. Chapter 37

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling...

From the last chapter:

_Minerva had insisted on doing this deed herself. Blowing up the two houses – not stealing the Dursley's home. No muggle was going to be killed on her watch, even if they were miscreants. She and Augusta set about casting unbreakable charms on the windows and locking charms on the doors of the houses that would soon be blown to slivers. Then she glanced down at her watch._

_Harry Potter and Bill Weasley were late._

Chapter 37

Harry held out his arms out and sucked in his breath as Madame Malkin's measuring tape tightened around his chest. "I'm going to be late," he informed her. He doubted Professor McGonagall or Augusta Longbottom would appreciate that.

"And do you have a watch to confirm that, young man?" Madame Malkin's arch tone brooked no argument.

Harry sighed, but quietly. Madame Malkin was doing him a favor by creating a suit of clothing out of the Longbottom's spell-resistant cloth. The fact that she insisted he not leave the house without wearing them was rather inconvenient. "Well, no actually. Hermione's using my watch."

"Along with all the rest in the house." Madame Malkin said. "Even that old wind-up grandfather clock in the dining room." The seamstress's hands moved busily, her wand orchestrating a symphony of sewing needles at various points along his new shirt.

"At least we found all of those lost watches in the Room of Hidden Things," Harry said. Not knowing the current time was proving a serious crimp in the running of the rapidly burgeoning household. Dinner time had been a haphazard affair till Ginny strung a huge pan in the kitchen. He suspected banging on that was her favorite part of the day.

"I'm sure if you found the catalogue for that room, you'd be able to sort things much faster. It's a magical catalogue, after all. Believe me, my catalogue made managing my shop that much easier." Madame Malkin squinted at him and made a few adjustments. "Try this on."

"If we can find the catalogue that would save loads of time," Harry agreed as he slid into the shirt. "It's comfortable!" He said, his eyebrows rising with surprise.

"What did you expect? Scratchy dragon leather?"

Dragon leather was far more uncomfortable than scratchy. Harry tried to forget the pictures in his Care of Magical Creatures books. Untreated dragon leather would tear to shreds almost anything that touched it. The Weasley twins must have paid a fortune for spell-resistant dragon hide boots that left their hands intact when they put them on.

Harry ran one hand along the sleeve of his new shirt. "It 's more like hippogriff feathers. Not soft, of course."

"Heaven forbid a boy have a soft shirt." Despite the sarcasm, Madame Malkin smiled at him as she handed him a pair of pants. "There are comfort charms on these to allow you to wear them in various climates and seasons. Color charms as well. My personal favorite is the camouflage charm. It's much more effective than that muggle stuff. Digital camouflage, indeed. Whatever that means."

Harry looked around him, searching for an appropriate place to change his pants.

"There's a water closet off to the side of this room, dear. That will do."

"Er. Thanks." Harry finished changing quickly and went in search of Bill. The sun had set long ago, and they needed to hurry if they wanted to finish before Snape returned. What his former professor would think when he found an empty crater the size of three houses filled with debris, Harry didn't know.

He found Bill in the fishing room, sitting on the edge of a stone bench carved into one wall, and curiosity surged to the forefront. "Wouldn't it be faster to summon the fish?" Harry asked, pointing toward the fishing pole in Bill's hand.

"That's hardly sporting, though, is it?" Bill quickly reeled in his empty line and set the fish to the side. "It's excellent for meditation. Some of my best ideas come into my mind when I relax."

"Let's hope you have some ideas on how to bypass the charm that alerts the ministry of unauthorized magic use." Harry tried to repress his annoyance. He had no doubt he'd be blamed for their tardiness.

"It'll be easy." Bill's long legs quickly covered the distance to the apparition room. "Chances are the magical surveillance charm covers only the Dursley property. We'll just take the Dursley property and then some."

"Someone's going to forget and do magic in there once we set it up and use it. We're a bit short on space here." Harry hated to point out the obvious, but bringing the ministry - and Tom Riddle – down on their heads at the manor would be less than ideal.

Bill's dragon fang earring reflected the flickering torch light from the never-ending torches in the apparition room. "Give me a few hours with the house here, Harry, and you'll never know those charms were there."

With that, they prepared to apparate to Privet Drive Number Three. Harry was grateful he'd never have to wink again. He could apparate to this place since there were no surveillance charms, and Minerva had taken both Neville's grandmother and Bill to the neighbor's house earlier that day.

Harry's mind drifted back to his practice this afternoon. _Defodio_. The gouging spell. It would normally take hours, even with this advanced cutting spell, to carve underneath the house and remove the property. Harry patted his pockets to assure himself that he'd brought his chocolate, a burlap sack enchanted by Hermione, and his new wand.

His new wand was the real reason he'd been invited on this trip. Once Ollivander had pointed out to the strategizing group that his wand allowed Harry to convert a momentary spell into a continuous one, his inclusion in the mission had been guaranteed.

There was a cost to using his new wand this way, though. It drained his magical energy much faster, which was why he'd been granted some of their precious chocolate reserves tonight. After carving a new room underneath the cliff while practicing, Harry had been so woozy that Madame Pomfrey had threatened to confine him to the hospital. The chocolate – a remedy for exposure to dementors - also provided a temporary fix to the energy cost of using a continuous spell.

Despite the problems it caused, Harry felt glad the spell drained him, else he would have been using the external magic pool. He had no desire to give Tom Riddle a boost at the same time. Exhaustion was worth avoiding that.

Harry focused on his destination and felt his insides squeezed as he popped into a new location His surroundings changed from a lit room to disorienting darkness in the blink of an eye. Harry put his arm out to regain his balance.

"Where have you two been?" Minerva's harsh whisper carried across the backyard. "You should have been here hours ago!"

If Harry could see her right now, he was certain she'd be looking over her glasses at them. When Bill didn't answer, Harry tried to placate his former teacher. "You have the only watch left that tells actual time," he tried to explain.

He could hear the swish of her robes as she turned away. "We don't have time now to argue about punctuality. Unfortunately." Her tone indicated she would definitely bring up the topic later. "We've secured the houses and prepared them to burn quickly. The natural gas lines only need a bit of help to explode spectacularly. As you wanted, Mr. Potter."

"Yes, ma'am," he said and he resigned himself to a snippy Professor McGonagall.

"Excellent. Madame Longbottom is at the other house. When you're ready, give us the signal."

"Red sparkles in the air. Like a muggle firework. Got it." Harry nodded his head.

The click of boots on a stone walkway sound loud in the silence of the night as she moved into position.

"Thanks for the help there, Bill," Harry whispered to the dark shape beside him.

"You handled yourself fine." Bill moved toward the stone wall outlining the Dursley's backyard.

"Years of saying, 'Yes, ma'am' certainly came in handy," Harry grumbled as he followed Bill in the sparse moonlight.

"Exactly." Bill raised both hands in the air and began drawing sigils in the air. As he completed each magical symbol, it burned with its own ghostly light. Minutes passed as Bill wove each sigil into a large net he then cast over the house with a flick of his wand.

Harry held his breath, certain that the ministry would come flying down on their heads. Nothing happened except the net of glowing sigils floated into a hemisphere over the Dursley property.

"Minerva was right," Bill murmured. "This doesn't follow along the property lines perfectly." He added a few more sigils to the glowing net.

All the light flowed down toward the bottom, finally forming a single flaming hoop running along the ground.

"Just right," Bill said, nodding in satisfaction. The light from the spell lit his features with a warm glow. "When you cast your cutting spell, stay well away from that line. Anything on this side of the burning line won't be registered at the ministry. Everything on the other side..." He shrugged his shoulders.

Harry nodded - there was no need to finish that thought. With a deep breath, he pulled out his wand, concentrated on creating a continuous gouging spell, and whispered, "_Defodio._" Warmth flooded down his arm and burst out of his hand into his wand as a wide section of grass and dirt exploded upward, causing Harry to step out of the way. He concentrated on angling this spell underneath the foundation of the house.

Bill kept a healthy distance in front of Harry and searched for natural gas lines. His job was to neutralize those with a long-lasting freezing charm. It wouldn't do to blow the property up prematurely. They both ignored water and electricity lines. The pressure in the water pipes was long gone, and electricity was of no use where they'd be going.

Slowly Harry made progress in his circle around the Dursley house. He paused in his main work to blast holes in the stone fence between the neighbors yards. He felt vaguely guilty about that. He'd spent hours scrubbing the Dursley's side of the wall. He had no doubt someone had spent just as much time cleaning them as he had.

He hadn't yet reached the halfway point before he was gasping for breath and had to stop. He plunged his hand into his pocket and tore open the chocolate bar. As the rich milk chocolate melted over his tongue, he heard a soft pop. While he hadn't been apparating long, the tell-tale sound signaled an alarm inside him. No one from the Order should be following them here tonight.

Bill, several yards ahead of him near the center of the front yard, whirled around and searched the darkness.

Harry hefted his tired, aching arms as he swallowed. He wasn't in any shape for a battle. He squinted in the darkness as a black shape of swirling robes stole toward them. Harry lost his breath anew. He'd know that stride – that set of robes – anywhere. Snape had returned early.

Uncertainty flashed through his mind for one long instant. Could he, or couldn't he, trust his hated potions professor? Memories from the last few nights where a slightly more congenial Snape talked with the portrait Dumbledore ran through his mind, but years of hate and distrust threatened to wash that away. In the end, his hope that Dumbledore still lived somewhere stayed his wand.

"Bill, don't cast anything!" Harry whispered, trying to make his voice carry only so far.

Snape must have heard him though, because the dark form stopped a house away for a few moments before prowling forward at a wary pace.

Harry felt sure Snape held his wand at the ready. "Professor Snape," he called out just loud enough for his voice to carry a few houses away. "I took your advice to heart. I'm taking the house with me."

Silence reigned, and the figure stopped once more. Harry had no doubt Snape was running through the ramifications of those two sentences. He'd know that Harry had heard at least last night's conversation with Dumbledore. The mere fact that Harry wasn't shooting him on sight had to indicate a sort of truce – pending loyalty verification – was possible.

Bill turned next to Harry, tension humming in every line of his body in the pale moonlight. "Are you mad?" he whispered furiously.

Harry shook his head and whispered back, "Trust me!" He knew he sounded like Dumbledore, and he hated that a bit. He didn't want people following him out of trust. He made plenty of mistakes, and he wanted to kick himself for not filling Bill in on what had been happening these last few day. Bill didn't know Snape might not be a traitor of the worst sort.

Finally, a voice, both weary and snide and the same time, called back. "I'm so glad you've learned obedience, Potter. Six years too late, perhaps, but it will have to do."

To Be Continued


	39. Chapter 38

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

From the last chapter:

_ Harry shook his head and whispered back, "Trust me!" He knew he sounded like Dumbledore, and he hated that a bit. He didn't want people following him out of trust. He made plenty of mistakes, and he wanted to kick himself for not filling Bill in on what had been happening these last few day. Bill didn't know Snape might not be a traitor of the worst sort._

_ Finally, a voice, both weary and snide and the same time, called back. "I'm so glad you've learned obedience, Potter. Six years too late, perhaps, but it will have to do."_

Chapter 38

Harry clenched his teeth to prevent a hot retort from spilling out. _If Ron's not going to lose his temper, then neither am I, _he thought. But he longed to send back a snarky response to his sneering professor. Harry held in his hands the power to get Snape accepted back in to the fold or to have him cast out forever. For one long moment he was tempted, but the thought of facing a grown-up Dumbledore years down the road stayed his hand.

So he sat on his temper. Hard.

"Good evening, Professor Snape," Harry said, lacing his voice with a double dose of politeness. He decided it was best to ignore Snape's first comment. "Perhaps you would care to join us?"

Snape drew closer and stopped at the end of the driveway, several yards away from Harry and Bill. Instead of answering, he chose to survey the piles of dirt and concrete littering the ground around the half circle Harry had blasted out from under the house.

"Surely there's a better charm for this than that," He slipped around Harry and Bill to get a closer look, seemingly unconcerned about having his back to the pair. His tightly held wand, ready to counteract any spell, gave lie to that, though.

"_Sectumsempra _works only on living things," Harry struggled to keep his voice even. He wanted to snarl at the man, shout at him for creating a spell designed only to hurt, maim, and kill. For allowing Harry to find his old potions book and almost kill Draco. If he was good enough to be in Dumbledore's confidence, how could he also be evil enough to kill others?

"I'm thinking of a more mundane charm. _Tersus incidere, _the surgical cutting charm. It provides a nice clean edge."

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but Snape spoke over him. "Madam Pomfrey has excellent insights. She should be included in your meetings." He paused, his eyes hooded in shadow as he looked up. "At least she'll then know what wounds to prepare for when you Gryffindors go gallivanting off to die in a blaze of glory."

Harry zeroed in on that comment. He'd chalked up Snape's rants about Gryffindor's multitude of flaws to plain bias. Maybe Snape's goal was to win the war, but not to die a hero's death at the same time. Harry tucked that little thought away for further reflection. He doubted Snape's position was that simple, but it might be a clue.

"What wand movement goes with the charm?" Bill spoke for the first time. His voice sounded thick, like he'd swallowed the snitch and was trying to speak past it.

"The same as _sectumsempra, _which Harry here knows." His eyes narrowed at Harry in accusation as he spoke. "Add two jabs, one at the beginning and end of the slash to delineate where the cut begins and ends."

"It's a continuous spell?" Bill asked, surprise coloring his tone.

Snape shook his head in the dim moonlight. "No, but it lasts longer than most spells. It's no doubt faster than your blasting spell." He surveyed the piles of dirt and shards of stone surrounding half the house. "I assume you want to finish before sunrise."

Harry was sure one slender eyebrow had raised with that comment, but he was glad he couldn't see it. One less thing for him to control his temper over. He squared his shoulders. "Right."

After walking back to the large blast hole angling downward through the ground, Harry jabbed his wand and began a controlled slash. "_Tersus incidere." _He pronounced the Latin carefully to avoid further infuriating instruction.

A small crevasse a centimeter wide appeared in the ground where his wand pointed. Harry breathed a silent sigh of relief as he crept along the lighted circle showing the edge of the house's surveillance charms. This spell took far less energy, even when he concentrated on sending the spell as deep into the earth as he could. Doing this twice tonight would be impossible. He'd finished nearly three quarters of the circle before sweat began trickling down his temples. _I ought to be able to finish without another break. _

For a moment, his mind wandered as he matched up the two charms he'd tried tonight with Snape's rants throughout the years about Slytherins and Gryffindors. Perhaps Snape likened Slytherin's approach to a surgical charm. He cut only where needed, took care of the problem, and left with a minimum of damage. Gryffindors did tend to leave a wake of damage in their trail while fighting. He remembered the absolute disaster he and his friends had wreaked while fighting at the Department of Mysteries fifth year.

His eyes stung as sweat dripped into them. He blinked hard and wiped his free arm across his eyes. As he did so, he held his wand hand steady - ripping through the garage wall while his arm jerked around would not be good. The brief distraction caused his comparison between Gryffindor and Slytherin and cutting charms to slip away like water through his fingers.

All he could remember was that - for a moment - he understood why Snape might have chosen to the live the life he did. Fighting against Tom Riddle from the inside, a surgeon's scalpel ready to strike at the right moment. But Harry's revulsion at what Snape must have done – might still be doing – to secure his position with Riddle washed that all away. He was back to his earlier quandary. How could an evil man do good things? How could a good man do evil things? And which was Snape?

Harry jabbed his wand again as he joined this narrow cut with the deep, angled trench he began earlier this evening. His arms felt like they were filled with lead, and his breath came out in puffs no matter how he much tried to even them. He pulled out his second chocolate bar and began to eat.

Soft footfalls on the dirt and grass caused him to look up. Snape's face was inscrutable in the darkness, but Harry could detect a hint of surprise and concern in his voice. "You've selected by a new wand, Potter."

Harry glanced down at the tan wand in his hand. Snape was the last person he wanted to discuss the unusual properties of this wand with. "The ministry can track my old one," he acknowledged in explanation. "But I've been taught how to connect my core magic to the external pool of magic."

Snape was close enough now that he could see both eyebrows shoot up. "And you survived the experience, I see. Perhaps there's more to you than I imagined possible." He circled Harry like he was examining an unusually interesting bug.

One minute passed, and then two. Bill drew close and took up a protective stance by Harry's left shoulder.

Snape stopped and faced them. "But your attempt at misdirection was pathetic, at best. Not only did you give me a piece of information that allows me to take full measure of your character, but through your poor attempt at diversion you told me there is something about that wand you don't wish me to know." He drew closer and his voice hardened. "If you broke into the Headmaster's tomb..."

Harry stepped back, shocked at the insinuation. "I'd never!" He protested as he struggled to keep his voice to a whisper. _Foolish! _Harry berated himself. _I'm showing obvious signs of exhaustion. Anyone who knows anything about the external magic pool will know I haven't been drawing on it! No wonder he called it pathetic._

Severus Snape crossed his arms and waited.

"It's not Dumbledore's wand," Harry knew he was losing this battle, but he kept trying. "Go look in the tomb yourself, if you want to know."

"Ah." Snape drew the word out, like a cat pausing before it pounced. "It's convenient no living thing can enter Hogwarts, then isn't it? That wand in your hand has been the downfall of almost every wizard that possesses it!"

Harry cast his eyes about the Dursley property, searching for a distraction, something that would get him out of this mess. There! The shimmer of moonlight on water. "That can't be normal, can it?" He pointed his finger at the water seeping up through the precise surgical seam he'd just finished.

"Precisely how deep did you drill, Potter?" Snape asked.

Harry shrugged. "I just concentrated on cutting as far as possible at an angle, see?" He held his arm out, pointing it under the house. "I wanted to make sure it worked the first time around."

Bill rested one knee on the ground and dipped his fingers in the water now spilling over the edge. "Smells like sulfur." He reported. "There must be an aquifer deep down near here."

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. "Control, Potter, control. When you remove this house you'll likely have a geyser on your hands. An excellent way to endear yourself to the neighbors." Sarcasm dripped off his tongue like drops of poison.

Harry looked back down at the water. A geyser would make a natural gas explosion interesting, to say the least.

"This conversation isn't over." Snape glared at Harry. "We'll discuss your wand later. I'm going to retrieve my things before this house floats away." He stalked off with Bill following behind to ensure no mischief occurred.

Harry stared at the men for a moment before noticing his sopping wet shoes. His eyes opened wide at how fast the water spread, and his ears filled with the sound of water rushing down the gutters and into the street's storm drains. Shaking his head at the night's strange turn, he pulled the burlap sack out of his pocket and ran a hand across its rough texture as he opened it. Once they got the house and property in the bag, John would have loads more soil to make new gardens for Neville's seeds.

Snape and Bill walked back, dark gray blurs in the night. Snape's smooth stroll provided a sharp contrast to Bill's staccato gait. Harry had no doubt Bill had been sitting on his temper tonight, too.

"Here," Snape dropped a bag in Harry's hands. "Give that to Professor McGonagall."

"What is it?" Harry looked at the bundle suspiciously.

"Food." Snape pinched the bridge of his nose again and sighed. "Kindly do not eat it all here."

Harry opened his mouth to protest that he wouldn't, but Bill grabbed the bag out of his hand and said, "I'll just check this for locator charms, then, shall I?" Bill's cold smile sent a shiver down Harry's spine.

Snape waved a dismissive hand, completely unconcerned by the implied threat. "I'd expect, Mr. Potter, that whatever you overheard was not enough to convince you who I give my loyalty to?"

The blunt question caused Harry's mouth to fall open into a small "o," and he shook head. "Not quite."

"I'd expect nothing less after six excruciating years of mutual antagonism." His gaze implied that the antagonism was weighted far more heavily on Harry's side, while Snape was the innocent sufferer.

Harry bit his tongue to prevent a hot retort from popping out. Instead, he managed to get out, "It's understandable, then."

"Yes." Snape held out his hand. "This ought to remedy the problem."

Harry squinted. Against the night sky he could just make out a lock of dark hair. He hesitated. "How do I know this comes from you?" Constant vigilance, after all. Snape could have gotten that hair from any muggle or magical person. Even a baby!

"For the love of all that is magical in the world!" Snape sounded perturbed for the first time that night. "I'll have you know I measured the amount of this hair down to the smallest bit to make sure it was no more or less than needed. If Fred and George Weasley run around as polyjuiced versions of me, I will hold you responsible."

The threat in Snape's voice made Harry jump when Snape whipped his wand out and sliced off a small lock of hair. Harry grasped the second bunch of offered hair tentatively. He wasn't sure he wanted to touch the greasy lock. "Er. Thanks."

Snape turned and prepared to apparate away. "And do remember to close your mind, Potter. I'd like to live out the night."

Harry fought the rising heat in his face while he remembered his most recent thought about Snape. Maybe he ought to work on that. As he thought about closing minds, Harry remembered how he cursed Riddle's mind, and he laughed out loud.

Snape pivoted on his heel. "What now?"

Harry turned his laugh into a cough. "Just a thought about how to give Tom a hard time. It probably wouldn't work."

Snape crossed his arms over his chest again and waited.

Harry glanced down at his shoes, and then at Bill, who was flicking his wand in complicated patterns while checking Snape's bag for locator charms. And probably for poison, too.

Instead of answering Snape's unspoken question, Harry asked one of his own. "Has Tom been a bit forgetful of late? Maybe he's been having a hard time remembering the words he wants to use when talking?" After Harry cast his curse on Tom, he'd checked one of Hermione's books for early warning signs of Alzheimer's disease.

Snape's brows drew down as he thought. "Perhaps." He didn't add any more detail.

Harry revealed his plan. "What would Tom do if the dark mark were cast over this place?" Harry had never cast the spell, but Snape no doubt could.

"He'd question his followers and then cast _cruciatus _on the disobedient wretch. He's left explicit orders to leave your house intact in case you return."

Harry modified his plan. "What if you reported you'd destroyed the house, as he ordered?" Snape had to be able to use occlumency to deceive Tom Riddle, otherwise he'd be dead by now. Maybe he could manage it.

"You wish to make the Dark Lord think he's losing his mind?"

This time Harry could see the dark eyebrow arching upward against his pale face. "More to highlight the fact that he is, in fact, losing his mind." Harry explained.

"All right, Potter. What did you do?"

The world-weary exasperation in Snape's voice almost made him laugh. "Professor McGonagall made me promise never to speak of it." Harry couldn't help the impish smile that spread across his face.

Snape didn't smile back, but his face did relax a trifle. "You don't have to. Your mind is still wide-open."

_I'm going to really have to do something about that, _Harry grumbled to himself. No wonder Snape was devilishly hard to get something by in class.

Snape nodded in agreement at Harry, probably for the first time in their six year history. "Your plan has merit, if only as a distraction for the Dark Lord." Without another word, he walked several houses down the street and waited.

Harry tucked the lock of hair in his pocket and floated the carrying bag in a particularly large blast hole in the ground, He oriented the mouth of the bag toward the house. "_Duco,"_ he spoke the bag's command word, and it widened and began to draw the house in. He'd wondered if the bag would grow bigger or the house smaller, but he found it was a combination of the two. The clean lines of the flower beds blurred and warped as they were sucked into the enlarging bag. Harry was forcibly reminded of his rides on the Knight bus, where matter didn't seem to have it's proper dimensions as the bus squeezed into nonexistent spaces between cars.

"Harry, the water!" Bill shouted this time, disregarding any neighbors that might have slept through this night's strange occurrences. While the blast noises from his spell were difficult to disguise, human voices would attract the most concern from the ragged survivors concerned about two-legged predators.

Harry looked at where Bill pointed. He hadn't seen it in the scant light of the night, but the fountain of water was rapidly turning into a flood. He thought artesian wells were thousands of feet in the ground. Surely his spell couldn't have gone that deep!

He watched as a river poured down the street. Water inched up the walkways of the nearby houses as the last of the Dursley property disappeared into the burlap sack. Harry grabbed it just as a fountain of water exploded into the air.

He cast the only spell he could think of. "Reparo!" Harry focused on repairing the damage he'd done that had released the water. Slowly, the fountain slowed to a trickle, but didn't stop. Just as well. He wanted the people left in this neighborhood to have a source of clean water.

Harry glanced down at the replica of the Deathly Hallows wand in his hand. _I love this wand! _He smiled ruefully. Of course, it would be far more useful if the energy requirements weren't so high. He'd like to go sleep for a week after that last spell.

Harry wiped his dripping face with his sleeve, but gave it up as a bad job. He started shivering from the cold water soaking him from head to toe. Cold water that smelled like rotten eggs. His nose wrinkled in disgust.

"All right there, Harry?" Bill asked. He swung Snape's bag over his shoulder, ankle deep in the water still flowing past them.

Harry nodded, and he and Bill sent off their messages to Minerva and Augusta stationed in the neighboring houses.

"Let's apparate down the street," Bill whispered, nodding in the direction where Snape still stood.

Harry agreed and they took up safe positions and watched the two houses explode and burn, sending debris into the air and in the rippling pool between them. For a time, burning gas floated on the water, sending up clouds of billowing steam.

The light from the fire cast Bill's confused face into sharp relief. "The bag. It's full of food. Piles of it."

"Yes." Harry wasn't surprised, but he knew they'd still run tests on the food before eating it.

A flash of light pulled their eyes skyward and interrupted their conversation. The sight of a snake wreathing out of the ghostly skull's open mouth high in the air proclaimed the destruction below.

Bill spoke again after staring upwards for several long minutes."I think I'd best not mention this in our debriefing tonight."

"At least not until I get Hermione to make a loyalty clock for him," Harry agreed and held up the lock of hair. "If he's on our side, no one can know. The danger is too great."

To be continued...


	40. Chapter 39

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

From the last chapter:

_ Bill spoke again after staring upwards for several long minutes."I think I'd best not mention this in our debriefing tonight." _

_ "At least not until I get Hermione to make a loyalty clock for Snape," Harry agreed and held up the lock of hair. "If he's on our side, no one can know. The danger is too great."_

Chapter 39

Severus Snape dusted ash off his clothes and apparated away from the dying embers of this night's work at Privet Drive. He ignored the colorless walls of the Minister's private apparition room and nodded at Rookwood.

"I'm here to inform our Lord of my mission's completion." Snape mentally rehearsed the memory he had prepared. Not a full memory from beginning to end. People didn't think like that while talking with others. He'd instead prepared a kaleidoscope of images to think about while talking with Voldemort.

Rookwood nodded once so deep he almost bowed, and gestured toward the door.

Only death-eaters from the inner circle received the honor of guarding the sole entrance to the Dark Lord's quarters. The boring duty was in practice used as a punishment. Rookwood must have gotten carried away while playing with muggles and hadn't met his food gathering quota for the day.

Snape placed his palm on the door. It warmed under his touch and swung open. He placed his wand back in its holder up his sleeve and stepped through.

Voldemort looked up from his chair by the fireplace. "Severus. Excellent. We need to discuss long-term food production. How many weeks of food have our agents gathered?"

After closing the door, Severus bowed low and the skirt of his robes piled on the ground before he straightened and answered. "We've gathered six weeks of food for your followers. If we feed the entire magical population of Britain, significantly less. Two weeks, perhaps."

"So little?" Voldemort stood and faced the window overlooking the Thames river. The water spilled over its bounds and debris cluttered its surface.

"I suspect hoarding by our agents," Snape lied smoothly. While he was sure some of that was going on, he'd siphoned off a fair amount to the Order. Muggles would die because of his choice, he knew. The less food the Dark Lord had in store, the more he would send his agents out to procure.

Voldemort's eyes flared red. "I want every parcel of food accounted for! Each agent will be searched for food before they leave this building." He swept his hand around to encompass the entire Ministry of Magic.

Severus hesitated, not sure if he should point out the impossibility of preventing their food procurement agents from stealing food. He'd stash food – even bury it – before returning with the required amount of food each day. Everyone knew the muggles would run out of food eventually. Even now the pickings were becoming slim.

"Severus, I see you wish to say something."

Snape bowed his head in acknowledgment. "I wished to point out that the freedom of movement we give our agents will prohibit our ability to secure all the food they find."

"I must have control of the food supply!" Voldemort began to pace back and forth in front of his windows. "Can you imagine the society I could build? The utopia I would direct if I controlled the food supply?"

"If only I could have exercised such complete control over my students at Hogwarts," Severus injected the appropriate amount of awe into his voice, but his blood chilled at the prospect. Food was the ultimate control agent, second only to water and air. Slavery of the worst sort would follow, where witches and wizards would be free to make their own choices only if their choices coincided with Lord Voldemort's dictates.

"You will, Severus." Voldemort promised. "Once Harry Potter and his little group of friends starve, we'll find Hogwart's guest book and unlock the castle. You will be headmaster, as I promised you years ago."

Snape murmured his gratitude and firmly stomped on the voice inside him that screamed in horror at the idea of becoming headmaster. Anyone who wanted the job had no idea of the sheer amount of paperwork and tedious meetings comprising nearly the sum total of the job. If Snape wanted to be a glorified paper pusher, he would have applied to the Ministry of Magic.

"In regards to long-term food management, we've requisitioned hundreds of muggle beds and placed them in the old Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, as you requested. They've been cleaned of their muggle filth. We found dozens of beds infested with bed bugs." Snape's lip curled in disgust.

"How positively medieval."

Snape tilted his head in acknowledgment. "Indeed. If our food burden isn't reduced, we'll have to continue requisitioning food or grow our own. A study of the muggle population here shows it may be decades before they rise above subsistence level again. Too much harvesting from them will wipe out their race entirely. Now if that's a desired outcome..." Snape waited for the Dark Lord's directive.

Lord Voldemort tapped one long finger against his pale lips as he thought. "Muggles are too important to the cohesion of our organization. They provide an external threat that allows me to bring together conflicting elements in magical society." He nodded to himself. "We'll have to find other routes. Use farming as a punishment for whoever displeases you." He waved a dismissive hand, indicating it was time for Severus to leave.

Severus hesitated, and then bowed low at the waist. He then closed his mind to the risk his next move posed. "I must report that I've completed the task you assigned me, my Lord." He kept his eyes on the ground. Ostensibly out of respect, but he wanted to choose when Voldemort entered his mind. Eye contact made that easier.

"Oh?" The one syllable had a slight questioning note that was quickly hidden.

"Yes." Snape forged ahead, satisfied that the brief pause had given Voldemort just enough time to try to remember the fictional mission. That slight hesitation meant Potter's plan just might work. A week ago, Voldemort would have confidently cut him off, impatient to get to the next report. Snape fixed in his mind awe for the Dark Lord's cunning before he spoke again. "The Potter house is completely destroyed, as you ordered. No one will live there again."

"Please repeat that." If words could have a color, these would have been the fiery red of rage.

The sinister hiss issuing from Voldemort's mouth reminded Snape of Nagini, and he wondered – not for the first time – if drinking Nagini's venom while not fully corporeal had fundamentally changed Voldemort's human nature.

Snape disciplined his mind and met the Dark Lord's eyes. He felt the Dark Lord's fury burning like a wildfire, but a hint of confusion also bled through when Voldemort penetrated his mind. Severus caught a hint of worry laced with a brief image of a silver-haired man in a nursing home before the Dark Lord tightened his shields and focused on Snape's thoughts.

Severus brought forth the admiration he'd felt as a child for this man and used it to color his cobbled together memories. Flashes of a fictional conversation with Voldemort – similar to many they'd held over the last month – were interspersed with images of houses exploding, gas fires burning, and the still pool of water left after the fire burned itself out.

Snape closed the memory with a glimpse of the dark mark hovering in the sky, followed by his brief conversation with with Rookwood.

At the same time his mind ran through these false memories, Snape delivered a verbal report to cover the fact he knew his Lord extracted the needed information via legilimency. "The Potter boy will not be able to recharge his mother's protection spell now, as you said. When the boy makes a mistake this time, you'll kill him as you would any other upstart sixteen-year-old. An excellent strategy, my Lord."

"Almost seventeen, Severus. He'll be seventeen in a few short weeks." Lord Voldemort turned away, the opulent robes he'd worn during the day as minister dragging on the floor as his rigid posture slumped. "Perhaps we should celebrate his birthday early." Instead of menacing, his Lord sounded distracted as he suggested how to punish Harry Potter for existing.

Severus kept his face impassive, but he couldn't quell the surprise running through him. He'd hardly protested Snape's unauthorized mission, despite Voldemort's direct orders that no harm come to his aunt's house on the chance they could lure Harry back to the house. To aid that effort, other death eaters were searching for Petunia and her family.

Petunia was proving remarkably difficult to find, but that hardly surprised Severus. While playing as children, he and Lily would pass by Petunia's obvious hiding spots dozens of times without discovering her. He had no doubt Petunia's family wouldn't be found till they were good and ready.

"Do you have a- " Voldemort paused for a moment, searching for the right word. "A hand clock?"

Severus pulled out his watch from his breast pocket. "I do have my pocket watch. It's five thirty in the morning." _A hand clock? Whatever Potter did is taking root fast than I thought possible. It must be that wand. He's worse this morning than yesterday._

Voldemort clenched his fist and breathed heavily, his nostril slits widening as he sucked in air. "Something is wrong." He turned, his robes whirling about his feet. "Wormtail will serve as our bonder. Fetch him."

Dread coursed through Snape as he bowed deeply and backed out the door. "Get Wormtail," he in turn commanded Rookwood. "I will guard the door."

He could think of only two things that required a bonder, and he doubted a marriage ceremony was on the Dark Lord's mind. No. What Voldemort likely needed was a bonder to perform an unbreakable vow ceremony with him, and Severus wouldn't know the terms till he agreed to them.

The last time he'd been trapped into an unbreakable vow, Severus had been forced to kill his mentor and friend. He doubted this would end any better. The clatter of feet racing down the corridor filtered into the apparition room. Snape straightened his already ram-rod stiff spine and raised his chin in the air.

Wormtail hated Severus looking down his nose at him, and so Severus was happy to oblige. It was one of the petty revenges he enacted on the pitiful wretch. Not for Wormtail's role in his schoolboy tortures, though. He'd been a forgettable mouse back then, egging on his cohorts in crime but not brave enough to strike out on his own.

The revenge Snape enacted upon the rat each and every time they met was for his betrayal of the Potters. While far less than what Wormtail deserved, he could do no more without broadcasting his true loyalties.

Wormtail skittered into the room behind Rookwood, and Snape spoke, "The master wants you." He turned on his heel and strode through the door, knowing Wormtail would trail behind.

Metal scraped against metal Peter clenched and unclenched his silver hand, a nervous habit he'd picked up since he'd acquired the new hand.

Snape stopped and stepped to the side to allow the trembling man behind him to enter Voldemort's presence.

"Not to worry, Wormtail." Even Voldemort used Peter's hated moniker. "You will act as bonder in our unbreakable vow. A great honor."

It was as Snape feared, but he couldn't leave. Albus sacrificed his last few months of adult life so Snape could become the trojan horse in the midst of the death eater camp. He sucked in a silent breath and made sure his face remained arranged in a pleasant expression. Pleasant for him anyway, which meant not impassive.

Scowling at the Dark Lord was an excellent recipe for an early grave. Three pinches of frown plus two narrowed eyes while stirring in one sneer equaled death at the Dark Lord's hand.

"Y-y-yes, master." Wormtail withdrew his wand from his ratty pocket. "W-w-where should I s-stand?"

"Anywhere. Right there." Voldemort's barely restrained annoyance frightened Peter even more, who backed away a step or two before stopping.

Voldemort stepped closer to Wormtail and beckoned Snape to join them with his head.

As Severus stepped forward, he focused on calming his racing heart. He knew his blood pressure had to be soaring judging by the vein beating a staccato rhythm in his right temple. His hand stretched out of its own accord to clasp Voldemort's slightly cool outstretched hand. Cool, papery skin met his, and he cataloged those details in the back of his mind. Rational, observant thought helped Severus fall back on the meditation techniques he'd used for years in his role as spy.

"Wormtail," Voldemort commanded. "Your wand, Wormtail. Put it on our hands!"

"Yes, my Lord." Wormtail bobbed nervously, both hands clutching the wand in front of him. He quickly placed the tip of it on their hands.

Voldemort's red eyes met Severus's dark ones. "Will you, Severus Snape, vow to never speak of, write down, or share with others what I will share with you this evening?"

"I will." Snape's voice was confident and clear.

One thin rope of fire shot out of Peter's wand and wound itself around their hands.

"Will you vow to do all you can to cure the ill I will discuss with you tonight?"

"I will."

A second tongue of flame flew out to join the first.

"And will you vow to create a new and perfect immortal body for me if you cannot cure this ill?"

Snape knew a hesitation here would spell not only his death, but the end of the Order's best hope to eradicate Voldemort's support structure. His voice rang out strong and clear. "I will."

Despite his best efforts, dread welled up in Severus as a third flame wrapped itself around their hands, forming a sinuous twining rope. For all intents and purposes, he'd just vowed to preserve the immortal body of the most evil wizard in recorded history.

All three men stared at the flames as they dissolved into the linked hands.

"Leave us, Wormtail." Voldemort commanded.

Peter nodded and his watery eyes teared up further at the exclusion. The door closed softly behind him.

Voldemort settled into the large leather armchair by his desk, while gesturing Severus toward a nearby wooden stool. "Severus, I fear the potion I used in my rebirth triggered a rapid aging of the brain, despite my immortality. The forgetting disease runs rampant in my muggle family..."

To be continued...


	41. Chapter 40

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

From the last chapter...

_Voldemort settled into the large leather armchair by his desk, while gesturing Severus toward a nearby wooden stool. "Severus, I fear the potion I used in my rebirth triggered a rapid aging of the brain, despite my immortality. The forgetting disease runs rampant in my muggle family..."_

Chapter 40

Snape shifted on the hard stool in the Minister's office and the resulting creak bounced off the stone walls of the office. His face remained impassive, but he winced inside. Showing weakness of any sort in front of Voldemort was inadvisable, but someone must have cast a discomfort charm on the stool. Dozens of pinpricks from the stool began their ghostly dance again. He'd only achieved a brief respite from the pain.

He pressed the hidden wand holster in his sleeve against the side of his seat and cast a wordless _finite incantatem._ Relief coursed through him, but he commanded his body to show no hint of it.

Despite his best efforts, this byplay had not gone unnoticed by the Dark Lord. Voldemort watched him, a small knowing smile playing about his lips. "Not many of my death eaters have the strength and skill to cancel that spell nonverbally."

Severus tilted his head in acknowledgment. "I wished to devote my full attention to your concerns about the forgetting disease."

"And that's why you and no other are here tonight." Voldemort looked over Snape's shoulder, his eyes unfocused in memory as he continued his narrative. "As you may know, I killed my father and his parents like the mudblood trash they were. My blood had to be purified."

Snape steepled his fingers and nodded during the pause.

"That day I also tracked down my father's grandfather." Voldemort's lip curled with disgust. "A rest home for those too far gone for anyone to want them. The old man couldn't hold his head up, and drool puddled on the floor." The disgust turned into a full-blown sneer.

"I'm sure he welcomed death, then." Snape said.

Voldemort waved a dismissive hand. "I doubt he even knew I was there. Disjointed phrases about mistakes were all I heard before I ended his miserable life."

Snape thought for a moment. "You believe he was afflicted with the forgetting disease?"

Voldemort stood and began pacing again, his movements strident and agitated. "At the time it seemed like the senility of old age. Nothing a wit sharpening potion wouldn't cure. But now-" He stopped.

Severus carefully considered his next question. "Something recently changed your perspective about that?" He wanted to avoid any implication of weakness on the Dark Lord's part. The struggle he saw between anger and raw need playing across Voldemort's face told him he'd have to watch his step to make it through this early morning meeting.

Fortunately, he was the best potions master the Dark Lord had and that would stay the Dark Lord's hand. Or at least make him think twice before destroying him in a fit of rage. That and the cursed unbreakable vow he'd just sworn. His mind already whirred with possible potion combinations that would appear to help his symptoms.

Voldemort's stance firmed and he came to a decision. "I've been forgetting things. Small things, like proper words, people I've talked to recently, and missions I've assigned. " He glared at Snape at that last part, as if it was his fault.

_ And it just might be, _Severus reflected. _I never managed to cure Potter of his impulsiveness. Thank Merlin! In this case, anyway_, he amended_._

Snape arranged his face into an appropriate look of concern. "How long have you experienced these symptoms? Have you had any unusual outbursts of magic?"

The sputtering fire roared back into life, tripling in size and casting an orange glow across the room before Voldemort had a chance to respond.

Voldemort's frown turned into a grimace, and he didn't answer, But Snape didn't need one anymore – he hadn't created the bonfire. Uncontrolled outbursts of magic were a hallmark of the forgetting disease in the elderly. Every now and then a wizard or witch might lose control of their magic when emotions ran high, but that's not what happened with the forgetting disease. When wizards or witches lost control of their mind and memory, control over their magic also eroded. When they lost the ability to command their body, all bounds upon their magic were eventually lost. The witch or wizard's magical core then burned out and left them a squib.

He avoided thinking about the ramifications of the most evil wizard of their time losing control of his magic. Surely Potter's spell couldn't be working this fast, could it? That boy had unbelievable luck when in danger.

Snape asked one last question. One designed to assess which stage of the forgetting disease Voldemort was in. "Have you experienced any personality changes recently?" A positive answer to that question would indicate if he'd progressed to a moderate stage.

Voldemort raised one eyebrow in perfect imitation of Snape. "Have you observed any differences?" He asked, a sardonic tone alerting Severus to the fact that he'd missed something obvious.

His mind raced as he considered the changes of the past several weeks since Dumbledore's death. Voldemort tended to fixate on Harry Potter and constructed elaborate strategies to rid the world of him. As if that child could ever defeat Voldemort in one-on-one combat. He mentally snorted at the thought.

But now the Dark Lord wasn't chasing Harry Potter, and he'd taken over the ministry faster than anyone thought possible. With a reasonable plan to dominate the wizarding population, Voldemort sounded remarkably like his early self before he'd split his soul so many times. Or before the mental illness developed that afflicted every member of the inbred Gaunt family. Still, controlling the wizarding population's food would cement them to the Ministry and Voldemort like nothing else.

Snape rocked back on his stool, heedless of the squeaks he made. Voldemort had become sane. At least in a measure. He wasn't sure anyone as depraved and incapable of caring would ever be categorized as completely sane.

Snape looked up at the Dark Lord and laced a subtle thread of triumph through his voice.. "You've manipulated of the situation we found ourselves in remarkably."

Voldemort didn't smile or acknowledge the compliment in any way. His robes whirled as he continued pacing. "For the first time since my rebirth, I feel like I can think clearly. See clearly." He faced Severus and spread his arms out wide to encompass the entire world. "Britain will become my base of operations. Once we consolidate here, we'll replace the rulers in Europe and America with our own. The rest of the world will follow. They won't resist – they have no food either."

An unwanted shiver ran down Snape's spine. The details of this plan were sparse, but Voldemort might be able to accomplish it if he struck early and soon – before winter was over. But only if he could secure a food supply that others couldn't. The few reports they'd received from other countries indicated things were as bad or worse than they were here. If Voldemort arrived with open arms, bestowing food on starving people, they'd accept him in a heartbeat.

"An excellent plan, my Lord." Snape bowed his head deeply,

"Yes." Voldemort walked the length of the room again, his robes swishing by a decrepit potted tree in the corner. "Soon after I begin thinking clearly, the original symptoms worsened. It could hardly be a coincidence."

"The original symptoms?" Snape hated echoing questions. He sounded like Ron Weasley or any number of dunderheaded students. But that was safer than appearing to interrogate the Dark Lord.

Voldemort ran a trembling hand across his bald head. "For months I've had trouble remembering the words I want to use. Like earlier this evening, when I asked for a hand-clock. I can't remember giving you a mission tonight, even though I'd been considering it."

He threw agitated hands up in the air, and Snape knew the only reason he lived to see the Dark Lord's near break down was the unbreakable vow he'd just sworn.

More disturbing to him than that, though, was the thought that Harry Potter had cursed the Dark Lord with the forgetting disease after Voldemort had noticed the symptoms in himself. Snape thought it unlikely Potter would have plucked that idea out of the air at this particular time. More likely there was still some bond, some bleeding over of ideas and feelings between the two, even if on a subconscious level. Snape's life had become even more precarious now that Potter would soon confirm his loyalty on those clocks of his.

But now he had to offer Voldemort hope and appear to work toward a solution in order to satisfy both the Dark Lord and the vow. "I'll brew the wit-sharpening potion at once, my Lord." He bowed his head. "That will offer a temporary respite from your symptoms."

Voldemort's rage twisted his features. "Fool! Do you suppose me a simpleton? I began that potion after I took this Merlin-forsaken post." He gestured around the Minister of Magic's office. The portraits still remaining pursed their lips and muttered in disapproval. None overtly contradicted him, though.

Severus supposed that was due to the scorch marks on the walls where their fellow portraits had once hung.

"I expect a new treatment on my desk by tonight, as well as an explanation of how the potion I used in my rebirth accelerated the disease. We must fix the potion before we use it again. You have twelve hours, or I'll consider the terms of your vow broken."

"Yes, my Lord," Severus murmured and stood. He had no idea where he would get the resources to create a new potion, let alone in the next twelve hours. His mind began whirring with the possibility of combining muggle herbal treatments with magical.

Twelve hours.

"And Severus?" Voldemort's face regained it's calm expression.

Severus turned around, wiping any vestiges of panic from his own face. "Yes, my Lord?"

"You still have your other duties to attend to. You must keep up appearances. And take care of that tree on the way out. The dead leaves are a disgrace to my office."

"Of course." Severus gave a half bow and strode over to the potted tree. The spiny, glossy green leaves were tinged with yellow around the edges. _Does the Dark Lord know he's sharing office space with a tree that embodies good?_ He wondered for a moment if the evil radiating off Voldemort was actually killing the holly tree, but his finger came out dry when he plunged it into the potted dirt. The plant should perk back up with some water, but the yellowing around the leaf edges suggested a nutritional deficiency.

He cast Neville's nutrition gathering charm, the one he'd incorporated into the actual seeds themselves. Snape admitted to himself the genius of the spell. He'd never let Neville know, though. He had an image to maintain.

Snape examined the reviving plant again. With any luck, a vibrant and healthy holly tree would send out subtle, slow acting magical resonances that would encourage or speed Voldemort's demise. Or at least the demise of his evil, which was the same thing. Snape's lips flattened into a smile at the thought. With one last glance at the plant he left the minister's office.

He had twelve hours to find something to stave off the forgetting disease. Perhaps there were muggle remedies the procurement agents had brought back last night.

* * *

Harry Potter leaned back against a mirror and surveyed the many different types of fruit trees Ollivander and Neville had assembled. Peaches, pears, oranges, lemons, avocados, and mulberries. They'd caught the wild mulberry trees laden with fruit. He stood up and walked along the path to pick a handful. They were sour, but full of flavor. Anything that didn't taste like fish and seaweed these days was divine. He hiked up his pants as he walked. _I should get a belt_. Everyone at the manor had lost weight, but Harry couldn't begrudge that. Not when he had so many friends gathered around him. Remus, Mad-Eye, Hagrid. And Kingsley soon, so he heard.

He reached up to pluck a cluster of mulberries when the ground shook Harry's feet out from under him. He tumbled onto the hard-packed dirt pathway in the mirror room. _What could shake the whole house? The whole cliff? EMPs don't cause earthquakes, do they?_ _Of course this happens to me now. Give me a few short days of peace and the world falls in on itself. _He scrambled to his feet and ran to the apparition room when the tremors ceased.

Professor McGonagall fell into line behind him. Surprise shot through him that someone who used a cane could move that fast. She hiked up her robes with both hand to run unimpeded by her robes and Harry saw black boots laced high up her ankle when he cast a sidelong glance at her. She was gaining on him!

He put on another burst of speed and flung open the door to the apparition room. One glance around in the dim light showed no one, not that he expected anyone. Not even a giant could shake the whole cliff. He continued up the stairs three at a time, and he reached up to push the trap door open in one smooth movement.

Soft morning sunlight lit the space inside the boulder. How, Harry wasn't sure. But he pushed aside that question for now and stuck part of his face through the illusion to see if he could find a clue as to what had happened.

Green grass swaying in the salty ocean breeze met his gaze. He turned a questioning glance on Professor McGonagall next to him and had the disconcerting experience of seeing outside the boulder with one eye and inside the boulder with the other.

He pulled his head back in and waited for Minerva to finish her examination of the surroundings.

"Kingsley!" He heard her shout. "What – How - " She sputtered into silence and stepped through the boulder.

Confusion flooding through him, Harry followed right behind her. A lone doorway crowded with people stood on the grassy plain. No actual door frame, just the shape of a doorway in the middle of the outdoors. Harry caught a glimpse of curved walls and kitchen cabinets when he looked past the many heads poking out behind Kingsley. _How odd_.

Kingsley flashed a brilliant grin. "I took a few detours, and we're a mite bit hungry, but we made it. Did you get a copy of the most recent Quibbler?" He held up a newspaper proclaiming Voldemort as the true Minister.

Minerva shook her head, still struck speechless.

"Neat!" Harry took a closer look. A picture of Alrick Armstrong morphed into picture of Voldemort fighting Dumbledore at the Ministry before flickering back into Alrick Armstrong. While impressed with the photography trick, Harry wondered who'd taken the picture of the fight at the Ministry of Magic from his fifth year. If he were to guess, he suspected a certain beetle that could take human form. Perhaps she'd been spying on Lucius Malfoy at the time. Harry smiled at the thought that his nemesis might have been plagued by Rita Skeeter as well.

While Harry examined the newspaper, Kingsley brought Minerva up to date about their adventures flying through the air in an invisible, enlarged castle rook. Apparently landing the house shook the ground all around it. Harry didn't know it was possible for the auror's dark skin to take on a grey hue.

"We need to figure out what to do about the aurors and their families," Kingsley concluded. "Some of them will certainly be loyal to the cause, but others..." He trailed off.

"We can't let them return to the ministry. Not with what they've seen." Minerva swept her gaze around the coast.

Kingsley gave a terse nod of agreement. "We can't add to their army. The well-meaning ones would be imperioused. We might as well send them trained death-eaters if we let them go. I don't see any good options."

The sounds of the children playing in the house quieted when Kingsley finished, as if they could sense their future lay in the hands of this one, formidable lady.

Minerva shook her head regretfully and opened her mouth to speak. "We haven't the food to feed extra mouths, not for a good month, maybe longer." Her brogue thickened, but that was the only sign of the difficult choice she had to make. "We'll obliviate their memories and send them home."

Sounds of disappointment greeted Harry's ears, and not just from the newly arrived house. Behind him people from the Manor crowded around, offering their solutions.

"We'll share!"

"We can eat less!"

"We'll catch fish from the ocean!"

"There's lots of seaweed. Delicious!"

Harry winced at that last one. He'd rather eat mushrooms. Concerned at the ruckus they were causing, Harry scanned around him in a wide circle. Anything on this cliff top was visible for miles around. He'd be glad when they sorted this out and retreated to a less visible spot.

"Why not give them draught of living death?" Luna's voice didn't have a dreamy quality to it this time. "Kingsley used ours when fighting the aurors, but there must be extras." She gestured behind her. "Several families here have kids going to Hogwarts. If they use the draught, all they need is sleeping space."

Harry hadn't noticed how rigid Kingsley's shoulders had become till he relaxed.

Kingsley turned around and clapped her on the shoulder. "Excellent idea, Luna. Pending the headmistress's approval, of course. " He cast a questioning glance at Minerva, who nodded, "We'll use the draught for those who don't pass the loyalty test."

Hermione stepped forward from the back of the crowd. "We'll need a lock of everyone's hair, children included. Please stand in line."

To be continued...


	42. Chapter 41

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

From the last chapter:

_ Kingsley turned around and clapped her on the shoulder. "Excellent idea, Luna. Pending the headmistress's approval, of course. " He cast a questioning glance at Minerva, who nodded, "We'll use the draught for those who don't pass the loyalty test."_

_ Hermione stepped forward from the back of the crowd. "We'll need a lock of everyone's hair, children included. Please stand in line."_

Chapter 41

Harry pushed the slimy clump of brown seaweed around his plate with his fork. He didn't want to touch the stuff, let alone swallow it. Despite the desperation rations on the long breakfast table, the mood in the dining room was jubilant. Loud voices competed with each other to be heard, and laughter rang through the air.

He heard snippets of conversation as wizards and witches bent their heads together to figure out how to support their community. The twins, as usual, were the most creative.

"Why hasn't anyone cast muggle repellent charms on something portable?" George asked several places down the table.

Silence reigned over the table, and Arthur looked he'd been hit with a bludger. "That would solve the problem of running into muggles. We can hardly go out gathering these days without tripping over them in the forest."

"The only spells I'm using these days are _confundus_ and _obliviate,"_ Fred agreed.

Harry pictured scores of confused muggles wandering through the forest, trampling edible plants underfoot.

Hermione placed her quill over her ear and joined the discussion. "The strength of the muggle repelling field is directly proportional to the size of the object it's cast on. That's why we usually don't cast it on something moveable."

Blank stares met her gaze from the Weasleys. Hermione sighed and tried again. "If the object this charm is cast on is small, the effects of the spell doesn't go as far. That's why the muggle repellant charm is cast on Hogwart's walls, not some pebble on the ground. The effect stretches on for miles."

"Hermione, you're brilliant!" Fred exclaimed, reaching around his brother to tug on one of her curls. "We'll give everyone pebbles. That ought to do the trick."

Hermione batted his hand away. "That was rather opposite my point, actually."

Fred laughed at her. "I never said you _meant_ to be brilliant."

"You're incorrigible!" Hermione grumbled, trying not to smile at his antics.

Harry's eyes widened when he noticed a flash of movement behind Hermione's head. He glanced at Fred and wondered what new trick he had up his sleeve.

When he looked back at Hermione, he saw the movement creep around the side of her head. Each curl bounced up and down in its place, reminding him of Dudley's broken pogo stick. He felt torn between laughing and informing his friend of her plight.

His guilty conscience prompted him to do the latter, but before he could speak, the effect spread to her whole hair, and music began to emanate from them. The room filled with a cacophony of sounds as each curl emanated a different tune. The words were all the same, though. Hogwart's Anthem.

Judging by the Hermione's clenched fists, she didn't particularly appreciate the noise, but she also didn't try to end the spell. Harry thought that wise. To do so would probably prompt the operatic curls to launch into a never-ending round of lyrics. Or worse.

Once the final curl finished it's dirge-like anthem, trailing into silence slowly as if mourning the end of its enchanted life, the bouncing curls stilled.

Hermione's fists hadn't unclenched when she turned on the twins. "And this is what you've been doing in your research hours? You're suppose to be researching new weapons!"

Instead of looking abashed or ashamed, the twins gave each other high fives and congratulations.

The now quiet breakfast table waited for an explanation.

Fred and George looked around at the waiting faces and shrugged.

"We're creating potions that can float through the air to the desired target," George explained, pulling a flask sloshing with green liquid out from under the table.

"I snagged a piece of Hermione's hair earlier. We have to personalize the potion to prevent it from affecting just anyone," Fred added, holding his hands palms up toward Hermione in mock contrition. "At least we didn't turn you into a bird!"

"A small favor," Hermione grumbled. Her fingers twitched like she longed to hex the twins with a suitably bothersome spell.

Harry knew Hermione, though. She no doubt saw the value in what they were trying to accomplish and would feel guilty if she hexed them for their unorthodox testing strategies.

"Why not use the Order's hair to tell the potion who not to affect? Wouldn't that be easier?" She asked instead, interest in the problem overcoming her desire to reduce the twins from two to one.

"If we know everyone who'll be in a battle," George agreed. "But what about bystanders or folks who fight on our side at the last minute?" He swirled the potion around in its flask. "Even this potion could kill by distracting their attention at a crucial moment." His face was unusually serious.

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip, deep in thought. "We have extra hair from our loyalty clocks that would be better than nothing. How were you planning on getting hair in the middle of a battle?"

Fred's smile turned sheepish now. "Ginny has these girly magazines, you see."

"And they talk about all sorts of hair plucking charms," George finished.

Hermione and Ginny glanced at each other and giggled at the thought of Fred and George sneaking into Ginny's room to read girly magazines surreptitiously.

Fred and George's ears both turned red, but they managed to keep the color from spreading to their faces.

Ignoring the giggles growing louder by the second, Fred said, "We're trying to modify the hair plucking charm to hone in on the dark mark. But without a sample to go by..."

Filius Flitwick stood on his chair at the other end of the table to better see his former students. "The dark mark is a corruption of the protean charm, as you may know if you did your supplementary reading. Any protean charm used on flesh has distinct markers. I'll show you after breakfast."

Fred and George somehow managed to dance a jig while still sitting in their seats, earning laughs from everyone at the table.

When the clinks of forks sounded against plates once more, Hermione turned to Harry. "I need to show you the loyalty clocks after breakfast. I'm having a bit of trouble with one of them."

Her sharp look quieted the question on the tip of his tongue. His stomach sank as he realized she must be talking about Snape's clock. _What if I'm wrong about him? What if he's hoodwinked us all again?_

With mechanical motions, he stuffed his mouth full of mushy seaweed and swallowed, nearly choking as it congealed into a ball in his throat. He guzzled some cool water from his goblets to wash it down. At least they had plenty of that.

He pushed his plate away and stood, trying not to think about lunch. Perhaps the foragers would have greater success today with their portable muggle repelling charms.

He followed Hermione out of the dining room, where Ron nearly barreled them down in the hallway.

"Ron!" Harry exclaimed, pretending to look at the nonexistent watch on his left wrist. "You, late for breakfast?"

"Ha, ha." Ron replied as he caught his breath. "Seaweed is a bit much for even me to look forward to."

Harry grinned. "Better not let Ginny hear that."

Ron waved a dismissive hand, but cast a quick glance behind Harry and Hermione to make sure the dining room door was closed.

Hermione smiled at his slip. "The seaweed would probably be better if we fry it." She grimaced and said, "Frying would improve a lot of what we've been eating."

"Too bad we're out of oil," Harry said. He wished they'd saved some of it for more desperate times. Like now.

"Didn't you hear?" Ron waved his hands about with excitement. "Madame Sprout had just received a shipment of canola seed for Neville to work on this year before this all happened. Maybe it won't take too long for him to change it!"

"Don't get too excited," Hermione said. "Neville's wheat took years to perfect. We'll be lucky if we have canola oil by Christmas time."

Ron wrinkled his nose at her, but he didn't disagree.

"Maybe Ollivander can find some olive trees," Harry thought out loud. "Oil has a lot more calories than the greens and seaweed we've been eating." He rubbed his stomach, which was gurgling and protesting his most recent diet change. He hoped he'd make it to the loo in time if the protest became too dramatic. "Where were you, anyway?"

Ron straightened and threw back his shoulders. "A strategy meeting. We're trying to figure out how to go on the offensive. After all, the only way to win a chess game is to take some chances and create a gambit."

"Who was there?" Harry wondered how they could make useful strategy when they didn't know all the information.

"Mad-Eye, Remus, and Kingsley." Ron was clearly thrilled to be included in the group. "We're thinking about ambushing their food procurement agents. If we can choke off their food supply, we'll have the upper hand."

"A siege." Hermione nodded her head. "An excellent idea. It's the common people who suffer most with that kind of thing, though. They starve and fall prey to all sorts of diseases."

Ron's face grew serious. "There's no good solution. But if we don't act now, we'll either lose the war or more lives later on."

For a moment Harry wished he and his friends were back at Hogwarts, worried only about passing their NEWTs and the usual end of the year attack from Tom Riddle. He didn't want to decide who lived and who died.

Ron's voice broke into his morose thoughts. "Remus said he'll meet you in the library. I'm saving a plate of food for him. It might taste better cold. And I saw Ollivander; he said for you to meet him after lunch. My guess is he's going to take you on a trip through the root systems."

Envy tinged his voice, and Harry couldn't blame him. They were all getting cabin fever cooped up in this house.

Hermione and Harry waved to their friend and made the short trip to the library. Harry was still surprised at how cool the stone hallways were. The rooms with windows warmed up well enough during the day, but the house was as cold as a cave at night if they let their warming charms go out. He laughed at himself. That might be because this house was a cave.

Remus sat waiting for them in the library, and Harry nodded hello to his old teacher. He tried not to examine how loosely Remus's clothes hung on his thin frame. The werewolf had decided to ended his mission for Dumbledore early. The werewolf pack he'd infiltrated had turned to cannibalism. Not of each other, but of the hapless muggles that crossed their path, full moon or not.

Harry repressed a shudder. There wasn't much chance they could bring over to their side people willing to eat human flesh.

Hermione wove her way between tables scattered with piles of books. She reached the last bookshelf in the room and pulled out a thick tome about dusting charms. After stroking her fingers along the cover three times, she opened it and pulled out an ancient pocket watch dangling from a copper chain.

She glanced up at them. "If anyone other than me tries to open the book, they'll see an unbelievable number of dusting charms." She hefted the book in her hand. "I discovered its dual capability when I was trying to read myself to sleep."

Harry laughed out loud, and Remus grinned along with him. Only Hermione would attempt to read a book on such a boring topic. He had no doubt that book hadn't been picked up in ages. It was the perfect hiding spot.

Hermione smiled back and tucked a loose curl behind her ear. "The problem is Snape's loyalty clock. No matter what options I put on the watch face, I can't figure out what he's loyal to." She looked at Remus. "That's why I invited you. Maybe you'll have some insight into the odd readings."

Remus sat on the edge of a table. "I'll try. But I'm afraid we were more enemies than friends in our youth."

He looked a bit shamefaced at the admission, and Harry understood why. If Snape really was on their side, then he spent his childhood years aiding and abetting the bullying of an innocent child. Well, not entirely innocent, he admitted to himself. He doubted Snape had been pleasant to be around in any sense of the word, and he'd been attracted to the dark side of magic. But if he wasn't evil, his dad and his friends' reason for going after the black-haired boy was wrong.

Harry watched as Remus pulled out a flask from his hip and took a swig. He winked at Harry. "Constant vigilance, you know."

"Very funny, Remus," Hermione said. "If I hadn't seen that was water, I'd have put you under surveillance for the next hour."

Remus chuckled. "It's not kind of me to tease, and Moody will never live that down. Still, it's a good practice to control your food and drink where possible. Mad-Eye has me converted after all the meetings we've been having."

"It's a good thing I've kept my eye on your loyalty clock then! Who knows what ideas he's been filling your head with." Hermione shook her finger at him and tried to look displeased.

Harry could tell by the way she firmed her mouth that she was trying hard not to smile. "That won't ever be a worry," Harry said, turning the conversation serious. "I'm just glad that werewolves are hard to put under the _imperius_ curse. That's why we let you know what's going on with Snape."

"What _appears_ to be going on with Snape." Remus corrected. "I'd like to believe it. Our chances for survival are much better with him on our side, but we can't afford a traitor. We've already lost Dumbledore because of him."

Harry wanted to tell him they hadn't lost Dumbledore after all. That he'd become part phoenix and had been reborn from the ashes. That somewhere he was a human baby that would eventually, many lives down the road, become a full phoenix like Fawkes. But he didn't dare say a word. Albus deserved the chance to have a happy childhood. Harry didn't have that, and he wasn't about to take it away from anyone else.

Hermione set the pocket watch on the table and opened it. "His hair is in the back of the watch, of course. As you can see, I've put every option I can think of on it."

The minute hand of the clock – no picture attached – swept around in a circle. Harry noticed the hand slow down at three different words on the edge of the watch face: _Harry, Albus, _ and _self_.

Hermione noticed what Harry was looking at. "I had to go with first names to fit everything in, but the rune equivalents underneath are the same."

Harry peered closer and found tiny runic symbols under each word. "Self, Order, Ministry, Riddle, Power, Riches, Harry, family, Albus, nothing."

He looked up. "How can someone be loyal to nothing?"

Remus answered. "That's a rare disorder most often seen in handicapped people. For that to happen, a person has to have virtually no sense of self or others. Much like a newborn baby has no loyalty yet, since they don't even know their arms and legs belong to them."

Harry's eyebrows drew down as he observed the hand slow again at the words _Albus, self,_ and _Harry_. "It's strange. Like he's almost loyal to me and Dumbledore."

Remus breathed in sharply. "Like he's loyal to someone he associates with you!" He stood and drew his hands behind his back and walked in a circles around the table, murmuring to himself.

Harry and Hermione watched in silence as Remus bumped into the table and kept walking. A book toppled off a pile and fell to the floor, but Remus didn't notice.

"...so obvious." Those last words were louder. Remus then turned around with sharp movements and faced them. "Harry, do you know who your mother's best childhood friend was?"

Harry knew his dad hadn't come into the picture till later in seventh year. That probably ruled out all the marauders as well. "Aunt Petunia?" He guessed. Maybe they got along better as children.

Remus shook his head. "Unfortunately, no. Your mother actually lived near Severus Snape while they were growing up. They were inseparable when the came to Hogwarts."

Harry took a step back, reeling from the revelation. "How- How could my mum -"

A soft smile crossed Remus's face. "She saw the good in everyone, Harry. Even in werewolves and social misfits with a proclivity for the dark arts."

Hermione began scribbling runes on a piece of paper while referencing a book she plucked from a shelf. "Why hasn't anyone mentioned that before?"

Remus cheeks flushed a pale pink and he looked away. "I suspect Severus had feelings for Lily, but they had a falling out fifth year. She wouldn't accept his apologies. I suppose we all forgot how close they'd been when they didn't associate with each other during sixth and seventh year."

Snape's worst memory flitted across Harry's mind. Perhaps that wasn't Snape's worst memory because he'd been publicly ridiculed by hanging upside down in front of the whole school. Maybe that was the day Snape's friendship ended with his mum.

Hermione began tapping her wand on Snape's loyalty clock and whispering runes, and then she carved the name Lily Potter into the outer rim. Harry watched in fascination as the other words shrunk and danced away to make room for the new arrival. He had to squint to read the tiny print.

With one final tap of her wand and a nonverbal spell, Hermione pronounced the job finished. The minute hand whirled around the clock and slammed into place under Lily Potter's name.

_Is that minute hand actually vibrating_? Harry was reminded of the pose an eager pointer dog took when it found its prey. "You were right," Harry said, his throat tight. "Severus Snape is loyal to my mum."

To be continued...

A/N Sorry this post is late. The site wouldn't let me upload the story last night for some reason. Something about the connection timing out.


	43. Chapter 42

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

From the last chapter...

_With one final tap of her wand and a nonverbal spell, Hermione pronounced the job finished. The minute hand whirled around the clock and slammed into place under Lily Potter's name. _

Is that minute hand actually vibrating?_ Harry was reminded of the pose an eager pointer dog took when it found its prey. "You were right," Harry said, his throat tight. "Severus Snape is loyal to my mum."_

Chapter 42

Harry forced his feet through the halls toward the maze-like basement of the Potter Manor. Ron would be waiting for him by now. They had a rule that no one could look for a horcrux alone, even though they'd only found children's treasure so far, not the handiwork of a mad man.

What he wanted to do right now was climb a fragrant orange tree in the mirror room and stare out the broad expanse of windows at the sea crashing on the shore, white frothy foam dissipating on the rocky sand. There he could try to wrap his mind around the concept of Snape's loyalty to his mother twenty years after she'd ended the friendship.

Snape's loyalty obviously didn't extend to kind treatment for the son. Harry shrugged his shoulders once as he clumped down several flights of stairs. Maybe Harry would be horribly bitter and mean if he'd had his only friend turn on him. He'd like to think he'd choose a better path, though. He kicked a loose stone in the basement corridor and watched it skitter down the hallway, bouncing off the wall before coming to rest underneath a woven tapestry depicting some ancient battle. Rock dust hung in the air and cast a haze in the corridors. He could hear blasting charms carving away at the cliff underneath him and to his right. Every available square inch in the manor was being prepared for crops, except for the few rooms devoted to tents, the kitchen, hallways, the dining room, and the Dursley house.

Newcomers without tents slept in hammocks suspended from the ceiling wherever they could find space. Harry suspected Neville was glad for the companionship at night. Not because he was lonely - far from that. Neville's plants required more carbon dioxide than their unmodified cousins, and Neville wanted the magic embedded in each seed devoted to strengthening the plant's structure for additional seeds. He insisted it was a waste of magical energy for the plant to pull carbon dioxide from a distance when they had a readily available supply on hand. He had no shortage of volunteers since everyone wanted a bumper crop.

Silencing charms of all sorts were in vogue now amongst the hammock sleepers, with witches and wizards swapping tips and tricks to make the charms more effective. Harry had heard some people were working on modifying privacy screen charms. He couldn't blame them. Even with this massive house, the scores of people made the living space feel more like a can of sardines than a spacious mansion.

He nodded hello to a group of stone carvers passing by in the hallway. They hardly noticed him, so intent were they on Arthur Weasley's explanation of how removing one gesture from the blasting charm reduced the spell's energy consumption drastically. Apparently Hagrid had found that one out.

After walking several yards down the hall, he flattened himself against the wall to allow to racing children room to play tag. The tapestry he leaned against shook him off once the children were out of sight. Looking at the way the tapestry ruffled and smoothed itself, Harry was sure it would have grumbled and snapped at him if it could.

Harry knew this crowded situation would only get worse, but no one here could condemn their friends or family to death by denying them sanctuary. Perhaps some of them might take the draught of living death. Families were reluctant to split themselves apart that way, though. What if years passed before things turned better? Children would lose out on that time with their younger parents. Husbands and wives would be effectively separated. They'd do it of course if they had to.

He just hoped Neville and his helpers modified more seed types quickly. His mouth watered as he thought of the different beans, canola seed, rice, and potatoes Neville was working on. He couldn't wait for creamy mashed potatoes laced with garlic chives, milk, and butter. Or cheese dripping down a roasted potato.

What he would give for a block of cheese! Dairy products were beyond the price of any gold now. Most of the cows and goats had been slaughtered by desperate muggles struggling to find food from meal to meal, but one of Hagrid's jobs was to search Britain for any lost animal he could build herds with. Regret churned his stomach when Harry remembered tales Hagrid brought back about cow carcasses left rotting in the sun, great hunks of meat torn from their bodies. While Hagrid wept over the death of the great horned animals, Harry wished they'd gotten to the cattle before the meat spoiled.

Muggles had forgotten the ways they use to preserve meat, through smoking, canning, or salting it down. Even if they had remembered to salt the meat – the easiest of the three options - they likely didn't have enough salt on hand to make a difference.

Harry pushed the door open to the storage room containing mounds of uncatalogued items from Hogwarts – most of it from the Room of Hidden Things. Ron looked up when he heard the door squeak as Harry closed it behind him.

As Harry filled him in about Snape's loyalty clock, Ron's eyes flicked around the room and he hardly even grunted in response. It didn't take long to fine out why Ron was so distracted.

"We might get through this stuff in a year," Ron cast a gloomy glance at the piles stretching almost the length of a quidditch field, the maximum amount the space in the room could be expanded by magic.

"That's optimistic of you," Harry said with a wry smile. "I was thinking two years myself." He lifted his head to examine the top of the pile nearest them. It almost touched the high ceiling, which was as tall as the trees in the Forbidden Forest.

"Tom will gather Britain under his rule long before that." Ron's mouth turned down in a frown, and he clenched the book he held as though he were trying to hold in an angry outburst.

Harry checked the tips of Ron's ears; they were red. He sat down next to his friend. "There's got to be a better way than this." He jerked a thumb behind him at the small piles of junk near the door. Those represented days of painstaking work checking each item for transfiguration spells. Scribbles on parchment had turned into love letters. Carved, wooden pygmy puffs transformed into newly dead pygmy puffs. Magical amulets reverted back into polished river stones.

Ron shook his head with disgust. "What a load of tosh this is. Too bad no one kept a list of all the trash thrown into the Room of Hidden Things."

Harry sat up straight, something in Ron's words reminding him of a conversation with Madame Malkin. He'd been anxious to get away from the pin pricks so he could blast loose the Dursley house from its foundation. "I just remembered, Ron!" he exclaimed. "Madame Malkin said there Room of Hidden Things should have a catalogue book, and that it's automatically updated!"

Ron narrowed his eyes at Harry. "And how many days ago was that?"

Harry counted back. "At least three. Maybe four?" Everyday seemed the same here.

Ron flopped on his back and blew the air out of his lungs. "I suppose I should be grateful you remembered at all."

Harry glanced down at his spell-resistant clothes before smiling sheepishly at Ron. "Sorry?"

Ron sat up again and shrugged his shoulders, surprising Harry. The old Ron would have blown off steam for much longer.

"Let's get looking for it, then," Ron said. He pushed himself to his feet and looked up at the closest pile towering over them. He turned back to Harry. "Why don't that new fangled wand of yours? It's got to be good for something, after all."

Harry stopped and thought about the idea. Would it be any more useful than another wand here? While the wand was useful for continuous spells, he didn't use those very much. He wished he could access the external magic pool to retrieve the catalogue book. But he couldn't afford to have that same pool of magic heal Tom Riddle again. After all, Snape didn't say Harry's Alzheimer's curse had failed, so he would cling to that bit of hope.

He ended up aiming his wand at the pile. "I'll try picturing what the catalogue could look like while summoning the book. It couldn't hurt."

Ron nodded and took a step back. Harry couldn't blame him. His spells were a bit erratic of late. He couldn't quite get a handle on how strong they were. Harry looked at the jumbled pile of items in front of him and concentrated on the functions of a catalogue. He wanted a book that identified every piece of rubbish in the Room of Hidden Things and its current location. He pointed his wand at the first pile and called out, "_Accio_ catalogue book!"

Nothing happened. Harry cast the spell at several different points on the first pile before moving onto the second one, and then the third, fourth and fifth. He mopped sweat from his brow. He'd only checked a small number of piles and his muscles trembled with exhaustion. He glanced back at Ron, who was casting spells of his own on the first pile. Structural spells, by the sound of it. Harry turned back to his own pile. That couldn't be more useless than what he was doing. He suspected he wasn't making his summoning spell specific enough. It was hard to _accio_ something he'd never seen before. For all he knew, he had to use the actual title of the book to summon it specifically.

He tripped over a stray potions cauldron and his toe throbbed in protest. He kept one eye on the cluttered floor after that while he cast multiple _accio_ spells at each pile. His limbs ached when he reached Ron again empty-handed. "I think seaweed isn't good for my stamina," he tried to keep from panting without much success.

Ron nodded in response. "Casting spells takes energy. Why else do you think meals were the best part of my day at Hogwarts. I was starving!"

Harry looked back at his memories. He'd been famished too, but he'd grown used to ignoring hunger pains at the Dursleys. "We'd better eat some decent meals before we fight Tom, then. I doubt they'll be fainting from exhaustion after they cast a few spells."

"Not yet," Ron agreed, tossing a book at Harry.

Harry dodged to the side and snagged it out of the air. "I don't think you meant to _accio_ Gilderoy Lockhart's biography, did you?" Harry set the book face down on the ground with a hard thump to avoid looking at the fraud's brilliant white smile stretched across the front cover. He'd seen enough of that to last a lifetime.

Ron tossed Harry another book. "Lockhart's book ought to make good toilet paper. McGonagall will be pleased."

They both laughed as they remembered the headmistress's triumph as she showed them the rolls of pound notes she'd collected on Privet Drive.

Ron _accio'd_ a third book from the pile. "I cast some stabilizing spells on this mess first - the ones we use on the Burrow." He threw a grin over his shoulder at Harry. "It'll take hours, but we can summon every book in every pile. One of them has to be the catalogue. If it's not transfigured into something like a chocolate frog card, at least."

"Brilliant, Ron!" Harry stood up and cast his own summoning spell. He caught the book – third year charms – and tossed it in the pile. "We ought to keep McGonagall well supplied with Lockhart books."

They fell into a rhythm. Cast the summoning spell, catch a book, examine it, and add it to the growing collection near the door. Harry tried not to sigh with relief when they heard the magnified sound of the banging pot in the kitchen. Lunch time. He felt like he'd been working in the hot summer sun at the Dursleys all day long.

Ron's shout of triumph stopped Harry. He whirled around. His friend clutched a heavy tome bound with green leather. He could just make out dark, ornate script peeking out around Ron's hand. "You found it?" he asked.

In answer, Ron removed the hand covering the script on the front cover.

Harry read the title out loud. "_A Key to Hogwart's Hidden Secrets_."

Ron flipped open the book. "It's definitely a list of all the rubbish we've been looking at. Do you think Madame Malkin can teach us how to use it?"

"If she can't, no one can," Harry answered, wishing for a moment he'd be at the house after lunch to see the project through. They'd gone through three quarters of the piles in the room to find that book.

Harry ran one hand through his sweaty hair, not certain of what to say next. He didn't want to insult Ron's intelligence, but he wasn't sure if this new Ron still wanted a taste of fame and glory. What if he tried to find the horcrux by himself?

Ron looked up when Harry stopped talking. He must have seen the worry on Harry's face. "I'll get Remus or Dad to help me find the tiara if it's here. I don't fancy having a black hand like Dumbledore's." Ron shuddered.

Harry's shoulders relaxed, tension flowing out that he hadn't known was there. "Finding the book ought to get you an extra meal in any case."

Ron perked up at the idea. "Maybe I can get an extra orange, too."

Oranges were highly prized these days. They were the most sought after trade item since thankfully no one snuck into the mirror room to pluck them off the trees against the rules. As their only source of sugar, it symbolized a connection with their past life full of delicacies, fats, and sugars. Mulberries – the other abundant fruit at the moment, were rather sour.

"I'll see if Ollivander can help me find some sugar beets or cane when he takes me out this afternoon," Harry promised.

Ron cheered that idea, and exchanging plans for their future sugar supply, they moved with eager steps toward the dining room. With any luck, they'd find another horcrux and contain it by lunch tomorrow.

Harry tried hard to not think about the other horcrux they knew about for sure – the one embedded in his scar. Hermione was hard at work finding a way to extract it without killing him. He hoped that was possible.

They slid into empty seats next to Hermione and Ginny, the book still securely tucked under Ron's arm.

"Ron, You brought a book to lunch! I'm shocked!" Hermione fanned herself and pretended to faint, falling sideways onto Ginny, who laughed.

Ron puffed his chest out. "Some girls are attracted to bookish males, so I hear." He pulled the book in front of him so both girls could read the title.

When Ginny gasped, Hermione opened her eyes and sat straight up. "Is that what I think it is?" Hermione's wide eyes drank in the front cover.

Harry had no idea what she thought it was, since he'd forgotten to mention Madame Malkin's idea to anyone. "It's a catalogue to all the stuff from Hogwarts downstairs?" He ended on a questioning note. Hermione's shining eyes and broad smile were over the top for a catalogue. "We should be able to get it to give us the location of everything in real time. So we can find _useful_ stuff." He tried to hint at its usefulness in finding Riddle's horcruxes.

Hermione shook her head at him, and put a hand out to silence them. "This book is a key to all the hidden secrets at Hogwarts!"

"That's what the title says, Hermione," Ron pointed out. "It's a catalogue."

"It's not _just_ a catalogue, although we can use it that way. Don't you two read _Hogwarts a History?_" Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, exasperation sharpening her voice. "Legend has it that this book shows us where everything secret was hidden in Hogwarts. Everything the founders hid, even the Chamber of Secrets can be found. And everything hidden since then. Salazar Slytherin himself made and hid it." She laughed and clapped her hands together, her eyes sparkling with all the possibilities the book could contain.

Harry looked closer at the green cover. Each dark letter was finely textured in a snake scale pattern. Those letters could be tarnished silver. Silver and green, Slytherin colors. Maybe Hermione was right.

"Harry!" Hermione leaned forward and whispered. Ginny and Ron scooted closer. "Salazar Slytherin surely knew about horcruxes. What if he hid something in Hogwarts about it? Something that Tom Riddle found? If we find it too..." she trailed off.

No more words were needed. Harry knew Tom Riddle had more knowledge about horcruxes than he should have when he talked with Horace Slughorn years ago. That had struck him many times as he revisited that memory searching for clues. When Riddle asked Slughorn for a confirmation of Riddle's own theory about the perfect number to make, Riddle talked as if he already had the knowledge of how to make a horcrux.

Harry knew Tom had at least made his journal into a horcrux at Hogwarts. Where else could he have gotten his knowledge but at Hogwarts? He went back to his orphanage during summers. Perhaps he'd found his pathway to this crucial knowledge in _A Key to Hogwart's Hidden Secrets. _He must have thought the book well hid amongst the rubbish. _And it had been_, Harry admitted to himself.

"Does this mean I'll get two oranges for finding it?" Ron asked, looking down at the single, plain chestnut pancake surrounded by bitter greens and mulberries on his plate.

This time they all laughed together.

Harry focused on eating, shoveling food into his mouth and imagining what his trip with Ollivander would be like this afternoon. Maybe they would find some wild apple trees or grape vines. The possibilities were endless, and they needed every calorie they could gather or grow till they could keep some of Neville's wheat to eat.

To be continued...


	44. Chapter 43

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

From the last chapter:

_ Harry focused on eating, shoveling food into his mouth and imagining what his trip with Ollivander would be like this afternoon. Maybe they would find some wild apple trees or grape vines. The possibilities were endless, and they needed every calorie they could gather or grow till they could keep some of Neville's wheat to eat._

Chapter 43

Harry stayed close to Ollivander while they wove their way through throngs of people crowding the hallways after lunch. _At least it's_ _better than London during rush hour_, he told himself.

He waved at Kingsley - British prime minister in tow - when they dodged around him. Harry wasn't sure who looked more beleaguered: the minister getting a crash course in magical life, or Kingsley, who had to plot strategy for the war against Voldemort while helping the prime minister run and protect what was left of Britain's government and military.

A sigh of relief burst out of him when they stepped into the broad expanse of the mirror room. Originally a ballroom, they'd first hung mirrors on the walls before adding space expansion charms. The place was positively huge now, but at least they hadn't had to add more mirrors. Harry never did figure out how the mirrors stretched to cover the extra space.

Ollivander drew to a stop near a blooming orange tree, and Harry marveled that the tree could blossom and hold mature fruit at the same time. A sharp cough sounded in his ear, and Harry started and turned to the wandmaker.

"As beautiful as the tree is, I do believe we have business to finish." The wandmaker reached into a black leather bag slung across his shoulder.

_Business to finish?_ Harry wondered. _Surely he couldn't have completed the goblins' wands already! _A delighted laugh escaped him when Ollivander pulled wands of varying sizes out.

"Hornbeam wood, the golden hair of a baby unicorn, and a bit of your hair to seal the contract." Ollivander held the pale wand aloft and cast a lighting charm. Glowing, luminous light filtered down on them, a contrast with the harsh blue sunlight coming through the windows. Harry's muscles relaxed, and he had to make a conscious effort to stay standing. For a moment, a powerful desire to lay down in the rich soil and soak up the gentle light swept through him.

Murmurs of contentment from the workers around the room reached Harry's ears, and he agreed with them. He could bask in the peace of this light forever. "Perhaps you could make a few for the manor," he suggested, grinning. "This might be just the ticket to help with the crowding."

"You flatter me." Pleased, Ollivander looked down at the wand with proprietary pride and admitted in a hushed tone. "This represents some of my finest work, if I do say so myself."

As Harry stumbled a bit over his thanks, Ollivander waved a hand in dismissal. "I'd have made these long ago if I'd known they were needed. Perhaps the goblin race will find themselves a peace-loving people in the future." He winked at Harry.

Harry grinned back. "We can only hope."

"Let's be on our way, then." Ollivander straightened, tucking the wands back into his bag. "We've a full and busy day ahead of us."

Harry took Ollivander's outstretched hand. He tried to not grip the thin hand too hard – he had no clue how this method of travel worked, and he wasn't keen to lose his one way in and out of the labyrinthine root structure beneath ground.

With one brisk stride, Ollivander stepped into the orange tree the same way Harry walked through the barrier at Platform 9 3/4s. Tugged along behind him, Harry slid through the outer bark of the tree. He could feel ghost-like, scratchy texture on his skin. He wanted to rub his arm, but he didn't dare. Everyone at the manor knew the one rule of root traveling was to never let go of Ollivander. No one knew precisely what would happen if they did, but Ollivander's dire hints had sunk fear into the hearts of all who followed him into a tree.

Harry's stomach rose into the air as he began plummeting down the tree trunk, one hand holding onto the wandmaker, the other holding his glasses in place. Instead of smashing into the ground, the drop leveled out and they shot out the side through a root. Harry hoped they were going in the right direction .

At least the goblins had allowed Ollivander to come deliver the wands. They had a respect for the ancient wizard beyond any Harry had ever seen, including Dumbledore. If they needed to make changes to the wands, it was best to have the wandmaker there to fix the problem in person. They couldn't afford giving the goblins any reason to refuse them access to the bank's vaults in their search for horcruxes.

Once they slowed down, Harry looked around. The bottom of the root was some distance below his feet. He couldn't tell how far, since he didn't know how big he was at this point. He rather liked floating along, although he wasn't pleased with the stomach-wrenching flops he experienced when the root suddenly jogged up, down, or to the side.

His surroundings were mostly an ephemeral white or a light tan color, and he wondered what caused it. He reached out his free hand for a moment – hoping his glasses to stayed on – and tried to touch the inside of the root. His hand passed right through.

Ollivander noticed Harry's exploration. "Most of the root action takes place near the edge or skin of the root," he explained. "Dryad magic allows us to coexist with the space the root isn't actively using. Traveling this way feels like flying through clouds."

"But warmer," Harry said. While cooler than a toasty spot by a roaring fire, this was far better than flying during the cold months of winter time.

Ollivander looked at Harry and smiled. "We've a few hours before we reach the goblins. It's time we caught up on your training with your new wand." He smiled, but his tone brooked no argument. "We've just begun exploring the advantages it could give us. Strategic advantages." He looked over his glasses with a stern gaze reminiscent of Minerva McGonagall when he observed Harry's lack of enthusiasm.

Harry swallowed hard and looked away. He'd avoided all but basic spells with his new wand. How could he trust it when he didn't know what the outcome would be? Sometimes it seemed like it read his mind, and sometimes he thought it put images in his head. At least he guessed it was the wand. He'd had enough of that from Tom Riddle. After watching Sirius die because of his false vision, Harry wasn't about to seek out any such thing again. He'd leave that to Trelawny.

Recognizing, though, that he was at the wandmaker's mercy in this unfamiliar environment, he pulled his wand out and tried to polish the finger prints off it. He glanced around at the unearthly glow lighting their way. "I suppose practicing my stunning charms aren't what you had in mind."

"I doubt the tree would appreciate it," Ollivander agreed, giving him a gentle smile. "But there are more...esoteric capabilities we'll explore this afternoon."

"You've already taught me how to access the external pool of magic," Harry didn't quite meet the wandmaker's eyes as he danced around the topic Ollivander hinted at. He knew it was childish, but he hoped if he made the topic difficult to bring up, Ollivander would let it go. Despite this attempt, he know better, though. Anyone who was thousands of years old was bound to have more than enough stubborn determination to outlast all the students in Hogwarts combined.

Sure enough, Ollivander said, "I believe you saw one of our group fall off a broom as the result of a gunshot on our trip to the manor. Is that not correct?"

Harry forced himself to look straight at Ollivander and face the topic straight on. "I never mentioned that to anyone."

"Were you hoping no one would notice?" Ollivander raised one eyebrow in question. When Harry nodded in response, he continued. "Your incredible shield charm that solidified on impact with the bullet was truly phenomenal, but the momentous event of the evening was what you saw before you insisted we use the shield charm. What were you thinking about when you saw the need for that spell?"

Harry searched back in his memory, and minutes passed while he reconstructed his original thought process. "I was wondering what would happen on the flight and if we'd all be safe."

"We're you touching your wand when you thought that?" Ollivander stared intently at Harry.

Harry nodded. "I had a hard time keeping it out of my hand the first few days." He didn't add that he'd since made sure it stayed stowed in his wand holster unless he was using it.

"The bonding process," Ollivander murmured to himself, staring off into the textured whiteness ahead. He seemed to come to a decision, since he nodded once to himself.

When Ollivander turned to look at Harry again, Harry caught a hint of glowing light fading from his eyes. He remembered with a start that Ollivander had a bit of his dryad mother's divination abilities. What had he just seen now?

Harry listened with a keen ear, hoping against hope that whatever the wandmaker told him now would help them create a better future for themselves.

"Harry, did you ever wonder why you rarely saw the headmaster around the castle?"

_How could he know about that?_ Harry wondered. "I'm sure he was busy with paperwork and meetings and all. He came to almost every meal." Harry felt surprised at the strong urge to defend Dumbledore in such a small thing.

Their conversation came to an abrupt stop when the air around them turned humid, and Harry's clothes began to stick to him. He wiped moisture off his brow. The root they were in – wherever they were right now - had turned into a cool sauna. He pulled his robes away from his body for a moment before letting them settle back into place.

Ollivander whipped a handkerchief out and wiped his glasses off. After he perched the wire frames back on the slender bridge of his nose, he explained. "It must be raining around this root system."

Harry looked around again. If he squinted and peered through the mist, he could just make out miniscule water droplets stained with soil traveling up the sides of the root. He hoped Neville had seen this - it would be better than any movie for his friend.

"Now back to what we were discussing." Ollivander revived their previous conversation. "Aside from the fact the the headmaster was rarely seen at school, did you ever wonder how Albus Dumbledore seemed to know everything?"

Harry remembered all the times Dumbledore had asked Harry to confide in him. Now that he looked back at those memories, the headmaster seemed to already know whatever adventure he wanted Harry to confess. Perhaps he'd wanted Harry to invite him to be his mentor much earlier than sixth year. Harry felt another pang at the opportunities he'd lost. He'd be much better prepared if he'd had he headmaster tutor him earlier than sixth year! "We thought he must have the portraits spying on everyone," he told Ollivander. "That's why I refused to take any of them to the manor."

"I'm sure he did that too, the wily old coot."

Harry laughed. He could see Dumbledore's eyes twinkling at Ollivander's description, all the while offering the wandmaker a lemon drop. "What else did he do, then?"

"He used the Elder Wand to access information from the external pool of magic, though I doubt his connection was anywhere as strong as yours. You bonded with your wand, while he won his from the previous owner. He most likely gained impressions mixed with a few images. When I examined his wand while preparing to make yours, he hinted at that. I'm sure he spent hours each day sifting through information to better protect the magical world."

Harry remembered Ollivander had said something about the information contained in the pool of magic weeks ago while they were camping in the woods. Maybe the headmaster could indeed his wand that way. Albus Dumbledore had used a pensieve to order all his memories. Harry had thought that was due to old age. What if it was due to using his Elder Wand extensively? Harry shrugged. He had no way to know unless he asked Albus's portrait.

"But wouldn't that give Tom Riddle a boost if I used the pool of magic again?"

"Excellent question," Ollivander's quiet approval shot warmth through Harry. "But in this case, you are merely touching the external pool of magic in order to access the information it contains. You aren't removing magic from the pool for your own use."

While that was a relief, Harry still felt troubled at the idea. "It seems pretty creepy that anyone could spy on anyone else with this. We trusted the headmaster..." Harry didn't want to add the next part of his thought. He didn't like having the power to spy on anyone.

Ollivander turned toward Harry, a serious look on his face. "I'm glad you have that concern, Harry. It shows why you were accepted by pool of magic. Or rather," he smiled, "why you were accepted by the rules put in place by the ancient wizards."

Harry's body shifted without conscious thought, and he found himself floating sideways along with Ollivander. He crossed his legs underneath him and entertained himself for a moment with the image he must present. He smiled, and then he was glad he somehow retained a sense of up and down in this ethereal fog. Otherwise even his strong stomach might have lost its contents, and he couldn't afford to lose a calorie to space sickness. Or sea sickness. Whatever that was called down here.

"So if I betray those rules, or use them for my own gain, I'll be cut off from the pool of magic?"

"At the very least." Ollivander sat up straight. "Your magic may burn out if the abuse is flagrant."

Harry leaned back sharply, or tried to, and he ended up somersaulting in place. "Whoa!" He put a hand out to steady himself, but his hand met misty air.

"Unexpected, isn't it?" Ollivander looked like he was trying to smother a smile judging by how his lips twitched upward.

Harry sighed. "Well, I'm glad there are limits, even though becoming a magical crisp if I mess up isn't appealing. Do you think I'll be fine if I only use this to fight against people who hurt others?

Ollivander nodded. "That's a better definition than 'for the greater good' or 'fighting against evil.' Much harm has been done in the name of the greater good and the fight against evil throughout history. But I would add one caveat. Pick your side carefully. The right one, according to the pool of magic, is the one that defends itself. It doesn't initiate the first attack. Generally. There are always finicky exceptions to every rule."

Harry thought about that for a moment. "What about now? What if Iran the state wasn't the one that bombed us? What if it was a group within Iran? Do we fight against the nation or the group?"

Ollivander pulled his legs up underneath him to sit cross-legged as well. He frowned as he thought for several moments. "That's a troubling question. Should we attack a country that aids and abets our attackers, as most likely happened with Iran? I'm afraid only you can decide that. In the end, it's your magic at risk."

"Gee, thanks." Harry frowned at him, careful to keep the rest of his body still to avoid another flip through the air. "I think I'll save the deep, unanswerable questions for after we defeat Tom."

"Which brings us to the exercises I want you to practice till we reach the goblin homeland. Pull out your wand."

Harry looked down at his wand hand, surprised. He didn't remember putting it back in its holster. He reached into his robes, grasped the wand, and held it in front of him with both hands. "Did you want me to try to look at the past or the future?"

"We'll start off with the past." Ollivander said. "The future takes a discerning eye, and it changes whenever the person in question makes a new decision. It can drive a man mad to figure out the path history will take."

"Like standing in front of the Mirror of Erised," Harry said, staring down at the smudged fingerprints on his wand. He remembered watching his parents for hours on end, wishing and hoping to have the family he saw in the mirror.

"Exactly like that," Ollivander's face lit up. "If you've learned that lesson already, you're well on your way. Do you know how to seek a vision?"

Harry thought back to the few times he'd seen snippets of the past or future. "I touched my wand and thought about an important question. I think the feeling behind it might be key, a need to know kind of thing."

Ollivander nodded and waited for Harry to begin.

Harry looked back down at the wand in his hands and hoped Ollivander couldn't hear his pounding heart. With his luck, the part-dryad would have better hearing than Snape. Harry shook his head to clear it and then refocused. _What do I need to know about Severus Snape?_

In response, warmth flooded up both hands and ran down into his body in a cascade of fire. _How had he missed this before? Was he more sensitive to this magic now, or had he been oblivious? _Harry felt alive, every cell in his body vibrating with a desire to know the answer to his question. A series of images paraded through his mind. Snape stuffing a magical bag full of food for the Order, Snape reporting the fulfillment of his 'mission' to destroy the Dursley house, Snape taking an unbreakable vow with Tom -

Shock ran through Harry and he broke his connection with the pool of magic. Gasping, Harry calmed his racing heart and related what he'd seen to Ollivander. Rage coursed through his veins at Snape's betrayal. "I never should have trusted him!" Harry was surprised the white fog around them hadn't turned red with the force of his anger.

Ollivander held out a cautioning hand. "Did you see what led up to the vow? Or what came after? This is crucial to properly interpreting information. Else you may falsely convict an innocent man. Lives might be lost if you create a conclusion without all the facts you can find."

Harry took one last deep breath. Ollivander was right. He had assumed Snape betrayed them again. It was so much easier to believe the unpleasant man a villain. Good guys came in good packages, right? Harry tried to repress a laugh at that, and it came out a snort. When put that way, even he knew better. Life would be simpler if the white knight appeared on a white horse clad in shining armor as the sun rose at his back.

Ollivander watched, silent, as emotions paraded across Harry's face. "I assume, due to the strength of your anger, you thought Snape was still on the Order's side of this war."

Harry remembered he hadn't filled the wandmaker in on recent events. They'd both been busy, with Harry searching for a horcrux while Ollivander brought back trees to would help them survive. Not to mention making an entirely new type of wand. "We created a loyalty clock for Snape," he explained, "And he definitely wasn't loyal to Tom." He didn't want to tell Ollivander that Snape was actually loyal to his mother's memory. That seemed too private; Harry wouldn't want information like that broadcast about himself to the world at large.

He paused for a moment to examine his thoughts and feelings. He'd gone from rage and blind anger at Snape to not wanting to tell that same man's secrets. His brow furrowed with confusion. The first reaction had been unthinking, while the second he'd reasoned through. For a moment he wondered if Snape had conditioned him to associate everything about him with anger and rage. What better cover could Snape have if Tom Riddle penetrated Harry's mind?

Good reason or not, Harry didn't like being manipulated. He vowed to sit on his temper harder when it came to Snape. If he thought through the provocation rationally and decided it still deserved anger, then he'd dump it all on the man. With that cheerful thought, he returned his attention to his wand. He had to get the background and results of Snape's vow before he made a final decision.

He closed his eyes as the now familiar warmth flooded through him, lighting in him a flameless fire. He saw Tom's confession to Snape about his fear of the forgetting disease. Harry grinned, triumphant, as he saw evidence that the disease – or curse – had begun progressing faster. He eyed with interest the holly tree in the corner that Snape tended with care. Ollivander might find that interesting. He pulled out of the final vision, wincing when Tom demanded something to improve his situation within twelve hours.

After he listened to Harry, Ollivander tapped one long finger against his lips while he thought. "A holly tree, did you say?"

"Can we rig the tree to be a listening device?" Harry had wondered if trees could be tied into some sort of spy network.

The wandmaker shook his head, smiling to soften the blow. "Most trees would not agree to such a thing, and those that would are less than...reliable."

Those few words caused Harry's mind to spin at the thought of sentient trees agreeing and disagreeing. How many trees had they hurt or killed by stripping the dirt from their roots?

Ollivander laughed at the stunned look that crossed Harry's face. "Only dryads can talk to trees, though, so don't give Neville any ideas."

Harry ignored that. Even he wouldn't be that cruel. "But didn't we kill a whole bunch getting the dirt for the manor?" Harry asked, aghast. He'd never thought of trees as living things like Buckbeak or Fang.

Ollivander reached forward and rested a comforting on Harry's shoulder for a moment. "Those trees were happy to sacrifice their lives to allow us to live. It's part of their purpose: o live a full life and give back to the forest, whether that's to humans or other animals. We need to be good stewards, of course, but not afraid to use the trees and other plants and animals of the forest."  
Tension trickled out of Harry's muscles. It seemed like every time he turned around, his understanding of the world twisted and shifted. "It's too bad we can't use that tree to spy on Tom's office. I don't have time to sit and watch him all day and night." What if Voldemort never slept? Who knew what that strange resurrection ritual did to his body?

Harry's words made Ollivander pause. "Perhaps there's something we can do after all. We'll travel to the holly tree after we meet the goblins and pick up a few things for Molly. For now, though," he nodded at the wand in Harry's hands.

Without the question of Snape weighing on his mind, Harry began to realize the different things he could learn with his wand. He closed his eyes and pictured Helga Hufflepuff's cup. He had to find the location of the last missing horcrux.

To be continued...


	45. Chapter 44

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

From the last chapter

_ Without the question of Snape weighing on his mind, Harry began to realize the different things he could learn with his wand. He closed his eyes and pictured Helga Hufflepuff's cup. He had to find the location of the last missing horcrux._

Chapter 44

Harry growled with frustration and opened his eyes. "I can see Hufflepuff's cup, but I can't tell where it is!" He rolled his shoulders, but carefully. He was still getting the hang of moving around while traveling inside this root system. For a moment he wondered how they jumped from the root of one tree to another tree, but then he shrugged to himself. It was probably some mystical dryad thing where all nature is connected together.

"What can you see?" Ollivander's voice was rusty from disuse. He'd stayed silent as the hours passed while Harry searched for clues to the whereabouts of the cup.

"A vault. A Gringotts vault with lots of coins - heaps of galleons, sickles, and knuts." Harry shook his head and frowned. "I keep trying to figure out whose vault it is, but I can't catch a glimpse of a person in the vault. They must never use it!"

"Are you certain you shifted your view backward in time?" Ollivander's quiet question caused Harry to pause and think.

"I don't know," Harry replied, loosening his grip on his wand. The last thing he needed was to snap the thing in half. "I thought so, but they weren't obliging enough to put a calendar or clock on the wall."

"How terribly inconvenient of them." A small smile tugged at Ollivander's lips.

Harry let out a short laugh. "Unspeakably rude," he agreed. Then he sobered. "I suppose I should be grateful it's somewhere in Gringotts."

"Have you considered the possibility you're seeing a cave that could be anywhere in the world?"

Harry thought back to the unchanging image he'd memorized over the last few hours. "It had a dark metal door in an oval shape like the ones at Gringotts. I don't think Tom would go to that extent to camouflage the cup's location."

Instead of replying, Ollivander looked up and then around, cocking his head to the side as if listening to something. "We're near London now. We should be within a mile of the entrance."

Harry's body swayed forward as they slowed to a stop. He unfolded his legs and floated to a standing position in the mist surrounding him. Instead of a slight scratchy sensation when he passed through the bark of the tree trunk, he felt coated from head to toe in a wet cocoon of water.

Thunder pealed in the sky, and when he stepped out from under the tree canopy, pelting rain poured over him and soaked his clothing in seconds. He reached for his wand to cast the _impervious_ charm, then stopped. That was pretty much pointless now. For right now, the rain felt pleasant against his skin.

"Which way then, Harry?" Ollivander asked, using a cupped hand to protect his glasses from the falling rain.

Harry glanced around to get his bearings. They stood near a grassy knoll surrounded by waves of purple heather looking bedraggled by the pouring rain. The top of that hill housed a small boulder he could roll to the side to reveal a trap door. Harry didn't know how one goblin could move the heavy rock on his own, but maybe that was the point. If a goblin was going to leave their homeland through this back door, at least one other goblin had to know about it. Extra security for the goblin nation.

After slogging through the knee-high grass, he searched around for the bell pull, something he hadn't noticed last time he was here. A flash of brown stone amongst grey rocks caught his eye, and he reached out and picked it up. A taut silver chain attached to the bottom of the grey rock came into view, and by he listening hard, he could hear the clear tones of a bell ringing below.

Satisfied, he set the rock down and waited. It would be more than rude to push the boulder away from the trap door; it would be a declaration of war. Bill had been adamant about this point while explaining to Harry how he could safely return to the goblin's back door.

After retreating several steps to where Ollivander stood, they waited in silent companionship. The wind began to blow at their backs, sending a chill through Harry, and he felt glad when he saw the boulder tip to the side. They drew closer to the trap door as the thickening clouds cast a dark pall over the late afternoon sky.

A loud squeak reached their ears between bouts of thunder, and then a goblin head swiveled around till he spotted the two wizards. Scrabbleknife. Harry smiled.

"About time," the goblin grunted.

Water dripping from his long nose, the goblin disappeared from sight, and Harry and Ollivander scrambled down the ladder after him.

The trap door closed behind them, and Harry heard the scrape of stone across wood as the boulder settled back into place. Confusion flashed through him.

"How did you do that?" Harry asked once he'd reached the tunnel floor and dried off. He looked back up at the snug trap door with no water leaking in around the edges.

"Magic," Scrabbleknife bared his teeth in a sharp grin.

Harry left it at that. Maybe they'd charmed the entrance stone to return back to its spot once the door closed before they'd lost their wands. Their magic lasted hundreds of years in the weapons they made – why not in a piece of rock?

Scrabbleknife turned on his heel and stalked over to a newly carved-out room several yards down the tunnel. Piles of crushed stone spilled out into the hallway.

After making his way carefully into the room, Harry drew in shallow breaths; the room was positively thick with dust. His tongue and nose were soon coated in the fine sand.

Scrabbleknife turned around and pointed to a row of crude seats carved out of the wall. "Wait here. The Njarishka will come to examine this youngling."

Harry bristled at being called a youngling. He'd be seventeen in a week! Plus a few days. He crossed his arms and stayed standing near the door of the room.

Ollivander placed a cautioning hand on Harry's shoulder. "You have my thanks," he said to Scrabbleknife. "These accommodations you've carved in the past week are positively spacious."

Scrabbleknife snorted, sending eddies of floating dust whirling through the air, but he seemed mollified. "Nothing else to do while waiting for him to return." He jabbed a finger at Harry.

A part of Harry felt bad his actions consigned Scrabbleknife to guard duty, but there wasn't anything he could do about it. The goblin nation needed the wands, and Harry needed access to Helga Hufflepuff's cup.

They waited in silence till they heard the soft footfalls of the Njarishka. Her long silver hair glittered in the orange torchlight shining in through the hallway. When she came to a halt in front of Harry, she straightened her stooped shoulders as far as she could and looked up. The Njarishka hummed to herself and drew shaking fingers in strange patterns in front of Harry.

She spoke after several minutes. "The slimy green ooze is contained better, a consequence of strengthening your red protection spell," She peered at Harry with a questioning glance.

He shrugged his shoulders in answer. He didn't want anyone else knowing about his peculiar sleeping arrangements. The manor didn't need another target painted on it, and he didn't want to give anyone a reason to kill Petunia. He didn't like her, but she didn't deserve death at the hands of death eater sympathizers or worse.

He doubted either Scrabbleknife or the Njarishka fell into that camp, but he'd never met the pint-sized goblin that accompanied the Njarishka. The miniature goblin now hid behind Scrabbleknife's legs. Perhaps he was Scrabbleknife's son?

A high pitched voice reached his ears. "...but why do they stink?"

Harry repressed a laugh.

Scrabbleknife glowered at his son and aimed a cuff at his head. The boy skittered out of reach with ease. "We don't tell humans they stink! It's bad for business."

Harry heard the exasperation of a weary parent in Scrabbleknife's voice. From that answer, though, he guessed humans smelled rather nasty to goblins on a regular basis.

He ignored the urge to bend his head to catch a whiff of himself. They'd been running low on soap, but he didn't think he stank. Not yet, anyway. Since cleaning charms sanitized skin without doing much else, they'd been using both to make the soap stretch longer. Thankfully Madame Longbottom had organized an outing today to search the nearby empty village for bars of soap. Harry suspected that cleaning items had been the last thing on people's minds when they fled.

Harry returned his attention to the Njarishka, and he wondered if the wrinkles in her face seemed more deep than they had a week ago.

She was still waving her hands in complicated patterns. "Why have you done nothing about the black mist? It seeks your utter destruction."

Harry started and his eyes widened. He'd forgotten about when he learned Tom had placed a horcrux in him through his scar. He'd focused so much on countering the green ooze by strengthening his mother's protection that he'd forgotten to track down the source of the curse put on his mum or dad. He hadn't even asked Remus!

He eyed the dark stone wall next to him and wondered if he could knock some sense into himself, but decided against it. Knocking himself out would put a damper on this mission, let alone the other stops Ollivander had in mind after this.

"I'll make that my next priority," Harry promised her.

She nodded her head once and turned to the wandmaker. "Welcome, Ancient One." She bowed deeply to him.

Harry could see slight color stain Ollivander's cheeks in the flickering light. "I bring you my best work. Wands suitable for casting for casting light that will not blind the goblins who tend your growing plants."

The Njarinshka reached out a reverent hand to take one of the proffered wands from Ollivander. She closed her eyes and ran one finger up and down the smooth, polished wood. "It's been so long," she murmured. Then she stabbed it into the air and commanded, "_Och det blev dager!"_

A bright glowing ball spilled out of her wand, illuminating the corridor for dozens of yards with a golden light accentuated by a subtle, golden peace. The little boy gasped and grabbed Scrabbleknife by the arm. "Please, can we keep it? Can we keep it? I'll grow the plants if you'll keep it!" The little goblin bounced up and down, his ears flopping with each jump.

A smile spread across Harry's face while he tried to fix the strange syllables in his mind. With all of the gutteral growls and trills mixed in, he found it hard to remember the syllables themselves.

Ollivander stepped closer to the Njarinshka, who stared at the outcome of her spell. "'_And there was light?'_ I didn't know goblins used Swedish in their spells."

A sly smile crossed the Njarishka's face, but she didn't look at the wandmaker. "I didn't want to give away our secrets too easily."

Ollivander gave her a slight bow from the waist. "Still, in exchange for the use of this spell - if goblins grow food with it - I offer you an extra wand, a small one, suitable for a goblin child's use."

The little boy gasped, but quieted upon Scrabbleknife's fierce growl.

Harry saw the Njarishka's body jerk, like she wanted to turn toward the wandmaker. But she stilled herself and kept her face pointed upward. "That would allow much of the day-to-day lighting work to be handed over to our children. You offer much."

"Goodwill has no price, as does the opportunity to train your children to wield magic through a wand."

The Njarishka let out a harsh laugh. "You wish to supply us with more wands someday; this I see."

Ollivander spread his hands out. "I would love nothing more than to provide the goblin nation with wands, the Ministry willing."

The Njarishka spat at the mention of the Ministry. "Already they are seeking to gain control of our bank. Let them! If they do, they'll never find their vaults!" She cackled with laughter. "Who do you think created the Labyrinth of Crete? Minos paid a mountain of gold for it, and it was worth every ounce. This one is better."

She looked away from the light and blinked several times. "No pain," she announced. She rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand. "And no soreness. These old eyes should have started burning minutes ago."

"Excellent." Ollivander's one word held a deep fathom of joy, and Harry began to understand why the wandmaker had continued in this one profession for thousands of years. Ollivander found joy helping magical beings reach their potential. _At least their potential for good_, he amended, remembering how Ollivander steered would-be dark wizards and witches toward wands that minimized those tendencies.

The Njarishka turned back to Harry, her silver hair reflecting golden light from above, making her head look like it was encased in a bright halo. "You have fulfilled your end of our contract. We now desire to fill ours. In payment for the wands, you will receive access to one or more vaults without removing anything. You also receive use of the goblin nation's growing spell in exchange for the extra wand."

Harry's hand twitched forward to shake hers, but he stopped himself. Not sure of the proper protocol to successfully conclude his side of the bargain, he settled for imitating Ollivander and bowing his head. "I need access to at least one vault, although I don't know which one yet. It will be a few days before we're ready."

The Njarishka pursed her lips and thought. "By then, you will have to return here to access the vaults. But it can't be helped. We will honor our contract." She pinned Harry with a hard gaze. "You may come with one other that already knows the location of this entrance to our land. No one else, or the contract will be null and void."

Harry swallowed, but agreed with her terms, although he'd rather have a horde of people with him to deal with a horcrux. At least he could choose Arthur, Bill, Ollivander, or Neville. Or even Madame Longbottom. She'd probably take the offending horcrux over her knee and spank it into oblivion. Riddle's soul-fragment would die of embarrassment, freeing the way for his eventual demise. A bubble of laughter at the image rose inside him. He pressed his lips together to prevent himself from smiling. As entertaining as that thought was, Bill might be best for dealing with surprises in the vault and on the horcrux itself. Curse-breaking was his profession, after all.

After the Njarishka dismissed them with a wave of her hand, Harry and Ollivander walked in silence to the exit. Just as Harry began climbing the ladder, he heard the scrape of a whetstone being dragged across metal. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Scrabbleknife rhythmically sharpening his blade.

"Do not delay, young human." Scrabbleknife held up his weapon to examine the edge.

"Why, Dad?" the young goblin asked him. "This is the best camp out ever!"

Scrabbleknife rolled his eyes and re-sheathed his sword. "For you, Hopper. Only for you." He didn't even bother growling this time.

Harry held his laughter in till the stone closed back over the trapdoor. He didn't want to tempt the goblin into bodily harm with that wickedly sharp blade.

To be continued...


	46. Chapter 45

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

From the last chapter:

_ "Do not delay, young human." Scrabbleknife held up his weapon to examine the edge. _

_ "Why, Dad?" the young goblin asked him. "This is the best camp out ever!"_

_ Scrabbleknife rolled his eyes and re-sheathed his sword. "For you, Hopper. Only for you." He didn't even bother growling this time._

_ Harry held his laughter in till the stone closed back over the trapdoor. He didn't want to tempt the goblin into bodily harm with that wickedly sharp blade._

Chapter 45

Harry settled back down into a seated position after he and Ollivander re-entered the tree. The next stop would be to gather some plants for Molly, hopefully before the sun sank below the horizon. Harry eyed the handful of rocks Ollivander was tucking into one of the many pockets in his robe.

They had all added pockets with expandable space to their work robes since Hermione had run out of hideous, beaded gathering bags.

"What are the rocks for?" Harry asked while he pulled his wand out for another practice session. This time he would try to find out who cursed his mum or dad years ago.

"An experiment," Ollivander replied. He nodded towards Harry's wand. "What will you search for now?"

"Where the black mist curse came from," Harry glanced down at the wand in his hand and rolled it between his finger. He wasn't sure he wanted to see who had cursed his parents. He'd like to think they were innocent targets, but watching Snape's memory during occlumency lessons fifth year had cured him of that idea.

His mother might have been innocent, though. Everyone had only good things to say about her. He cheered at the thought. Even Snape, as much as he'd maligned Harry's father, had never said a word against his mother.

Harry closed his eyes hen and focused on his need to know who had cursed his parents. When he floated in the now familiar warmth of the external magic pool, he saw a flicker of images almost too fast to register. Over and over again, he saw Severus Snape cast curses at his father. A young Snape with a red nose and tears in his eyes. Then an older Snape, a hard look of hate twisting his features as his curses became dangerous. James Potter gave back as good as he got every time, and more.

Then the flicker of images slowed down, and Harry plunged into the tail end of a familiar memory.

_"Who wants to see me take off Snivelly's pants?"_ * _a jubilant James Potter called out, anger at Lily Evan's snub making his face as ugly as Snape's. _

_ Laughter rang out among the onlookers, although a few students looked around uneasily and worried at their books and papers. _

_ "All right, then. Welcome to the show!" James bowed at the waist and spread his arms wide. He plucked a blade of grass and transfigured it into top hat. After placing it on his thick hair, ruffling it further in the process, he flourished his wand. "What you will see now will be the most horrifying thing you will see in your life!"_

_ Gasps echoed back at him, and James grinned. With a few tiny jerks of his wand, he inched the upside-down Slytherin's pants toward his feet. Several girls shrieked and clapped their hands over their eyes._

_ "You've seen nothing yet, stay with us!" Sirius joined in, an unpleasant sneer crossing his face when he looked at the struggling boy dangling by his foot. Severus clenched both hands over the waistband of his pants, but James' magic was the stronger of the two. _

_ "Keep your eyes open for this never-to-be-forgotten show!" James called out and swished his arm in a long arc to remove the rest of Snape's pants. A heavy hand clamped down on his arm, interrupting the motion._

_ "Now, now, children. While this is an excellent display of magic, Mr. Potter, we can't be scaring the children, now can we," said Horace Slughorn. _

_ Th potions teacher shifted his body to face away from the crumpled boy catching his breath on the ground. Before Slughorn turned entirely away, he winked at Severus. No one else seemed to notice. _

_ "Look at all these children watching you," he said, sweeping an arm out. "We can't set a poor example for them!"_

_ James and Sirius faced away from Severus to look where the potions master pointed. Crowds of students stared back at them with wide eyes._

_ Behind them, Severus Snape's eyes narrowed, and his lips parted in a feral grimace filled with loathing. He whipped his wand out, and without pausing for thought, cast a shimmering black spell low along the ground. "May your worst nightmare come true, Potter." The words came out in a deep growl, rage and hatred for every torment and torture perpetuated by the Gryffindor boy pouring out in a torrent._

_ A thick beam of blackness hit James' feet, glittering and dancing along his entire body for but a moment before dissipating. Severus Snape watched for any effect the spell had, but shook his head in disgust when nothing happened. He dragged himself to his feet and limped off in the other direction, missing the approving smile Horace Slughorn cast over his shoulder __at the retreating young man._

Harry blinked the grittiness out of his eyes. He must have opened them sometime during the memory. "It wasn't even a real spell." He looked away from Ollivander and swallowed hard to rid his mouth of the foul taste watching that had left.

He couldn't blame Snape. Harry himself had almost killed Malfoy with far less provocation last year by casting the cutting curse, _sectumsempra,_ at him. The teenage Snape had probably thought the Giant Squid would rear out of the water, dangle James Potter in the air before lowering the boy into its mouth. The students who had watched the show would scatter screaming with terror. The ultimate revenge.

"Your curse is quite real," Ollivander's observation broke into Harry's reverie.

Harry waved a hand in the air. "No, I meant that the curse wasn't an actual spell with Latin words. It seemed more like a wish that my dad would have his worst nightmare come true."

"Ah," Ollivander nodded in understanding. "Wish magic."

Harry cast a questioning look at the wandmaker, who continued. "Wish magic isn't truly that. Instead of using formulas comprised of specific gestures and words in old languages, the witch or wizard instead channels an intense desire out through their wand. The result can be...rather unpredictable."

"I'll say," Harry muttered. He thought more about what had happened to his dad after that spell. James Potter had by all accounts become less arrogant, enabling him to attract, woo, and marry the girl of his dreams, Lily Evans. He'd then excelled in the fight against Tom Riddle, fighting the the master of the death eaters no less than three times while living to tell the tale. Finally, they had a baby son that they doted on. And then the curse struck.

Or had it? Had the curse struck earlier, giving James Potter everything he dreamed of, only to take it away? Severus's curse would be more potent if he had more to lose.

Ollivander's thoughts followed Harry's. "Every parent's worst nightmare is that they won't be able to protect their child. In the end, your father failed to protect you and his wife. Not only that, he had to live on the other side of the veil watching you struggle to grow up, unloved and unwanted in your aunt's house. Snape's curse must have been very powerful indeed."

"The curse must have had to settle for making me and my parents miserable when my mother protected me from death against it and Tom in one fell swoop." Harry leaned back, astonished. He forgot his surroundings and flipping in a circle in the wet mist surrounding him. At this rate, he'd wrench Ollivander's arm out of his socket with these sudden movements. He'd be glad to get out of the never-ending grey wetness of the root system and the quasi-weightless feeling. Neville could have all the rides from here on out.

Harry knew he should be angry at Snape, since he could reasonably lay every miserable, unusual thing that had ever happened to him at his former potion teacher's feet. But anger was slow to come tonight. Bone-deep weariness instead overwhelmed him. He closed his eyes and asked Ollivander to wake him when they got to their next destination. Wherever that was. He didn't care anymore.

* * *

"Harry!" A soft voice brought Harry out of a murky sleep filled with images of a Giant Squid made of mist chasing Harry across Hogwart's grounds. He yawned and stretched one arm, the other still firmly clasping Ollivander's. He didn't want his miniaturized body floating through this dryad transportation system to suddenly expand, smashing the root and embedding pieces of it inside himself.

"Where are we?" Harry asked, swiveling his head and peering into the mist as if he could look through the walls of the root to see where they'd stopped.

"Your mother's childhood home. Remus thought Petunia might take her family and flee there for safety. It's about 20 miles from Surrey. Also, there are vines of hops nearby that Molly wants to use to make yeast. Yeast means bread." Ollivander, usually unflappable, let a note of pure yearning enter his voice when he mentioned the possibility of bread, which would no doubt be made from Neville's first crop of wheat. What they could spare that wouldn't go directly into the second crop.

Harry sat up straight, eager to see the place his mother played at as a little girl. The thought of bread fled his mind.

When they walked out of the tree bark this time, darkness was broken only by the wan light of the stars. Harry surveyed the sky, hoping that the moon was behind a cloud. If visibility increased, they wouldn't have to cast _lumos, _which would attract every ruffian within sight of the light. Not even a sliver of a moon gazed back at Harry. It must be rising later in the evening. How inconvenient.

The rustle of clothing greeted his ears, and then Harry heard the click of a button. A bright beam of light shone on the ground in front of their feet. John must have given a flashlight to Ollivander for his trips. This was much better than lumos, which scattered light in all directions. This way they might have a chance to go undetected.

"Here, Harry." Ollivander dropped a white rock into Harry's hand.

Harry tucked it away into the pocket nearest his wand without examining it. "What's it for?"

"Don't you recognize your own idea?" Humor laced Ollivander's voice.

Harry frowned when nothing came to mind, and then he brainstormed out loud. "Kingsley made buttons into listening devices for the British ministry. I suppose we could use rocks for that. And we could put these throughout the house to see if Petunia comes back, but that wasn't my idea. Till now, anyway." He grinned in the darkness.

"We should do that, Harry." Ollivander said, "but that's not what these actually are."

"Oh." Harry scratched his head, and then wished he hadn't. He was sure his hair was as greasy as Snape's by the feel of it. He hoped they found more soap soon. If they had enough fat to spare, they could make their own. Everyone agreed, though, that survival ranked a bit higher than cleanliness, even if some of the girls pouted and clearly wanted to disagree.

Distracted by the state of his hair, Harry finally shook his head. "That stone could be anything. A protean charm for communication, a disguised muggle bomb..."

Ollivander relented. "Perhaps you'll remember our conversation at breakfast this morning about muggle repelling charms? The Weasley twins made some for the foraging parties right after. They kindly obliged and gave me a few for our trip tonight."

Harry shook his head in part consternation, part amazement at how long ago that seemed. He and Ron had found the book of secrets for Hogwarts, delivered wands to the goblins, and now Harry was standing in front of his mum's childhood home. "Brilliant," he said, inching forward toward the house. "Now we can search it for any sign of my relatives."

The puny light from the flashlight showed them glimpses of a long, narrow house. The shutters hung askew from the windows. The clapboard siding pulled away from the wall in places, and the peeling pink paint showed patches of a green color reminiscent of bogies. He hoped that horrendous color hadn't been inflicted on his mother, but he feared not, based on the ramshackle, rundown state of the house.

The door screeched, metal rubbing against unlubricated metal when they pulled it open. Harry winced. They'd managed to keep their noise to a minimum up till now, but that door announced their presence to the entire neighborhood of crammed together houses.

The carpet disintegrated further under their feet, and Harry wrinkled his nose at the musty smell mixed with the unmistakable scent of stale dog urine. He couldn't imagine Petunia living here. At least the narrow kitchen had linoleum. Cracked and peeling in places, but at least Harry could breath a bit deeper in here.

He pulled open the cupboard under the sink and snagged a near-empty bottle of dishwashing detergent. Anything would help. He dropped it into one of his expandable pockets and patted the lump in his cloak.

Ollivander searched through the cupboards, but found only mouse droppings for his trouble. Harry took one look over his shoulder and left him to it. Pulling out his wand, he shifted the spare flashlight to his left hand. While he doubted any wizard knew of this place, he could hear Mad-Eye's voice demanding, "Constant vigilance."

He practiced walking with silent footsteps down the narrow hallway. Gaping black holes the size of meaty fists glared back at him from the walls. He could imagine Vernon or Dudley taking their rage out on the hapless drywall. He smiled when he saw a few dents where a fist hadn't pushed through. The wooden stud behind must have wreaked some serious havoc on the offending knuckles.

Two bedrooms and a bathroom were attached to the short hallway. After kicking away the scattered clothes on the floors – winter clothes – Harry searched the closets of each room, since his uncle and cousin could never hide their bulk underneath the bed. Jumbled boxes packed high precluded any hiding spot there. Still, Harry poked behind the boxes in the closet. Perhaps they were hiding a secret passage or some exotic hiding place.

Cheerful floral wall paper lay torn and shredded behind the boxes. Harry plucked a piece of it off and tucked it into his robes as a memento. His mum might have grown up with it.

He took a second glance at the bed. Petunia just might fit in the narrow space underneath the bed. Harry searched the blank space under each bed. The smell of something rotting greeted his nose. He didn't train his light on it for long, but he suspected it was the starved corpse of a rat that had become fatally dependent on humans for its food. It probably didn't even know its way out of the house.

He wondered for a moment if the dead rat would make good chicken feed, but the thought of eating eggs formed on a diet of carrion decided him. He'd rather eat bitter dandelion greens.

After finding nothing useful, he met Ollivander in the kitchen again. Harry shook his head to indicate he'd found nothing, and they retreated out the back door. This one didn't moan and complain about swinging outward, and Harry made a mental note to use this entrance if they came back again someday.

Pebbles scraped against each other as they walked over the rocky ground to the side gate.

"I placed some rocks around the doors and the kitchen," Ollivander said while reaching out to fiddle with the latch on the gate into the backyard. "If we charm them to communicate directly to a quotable quill with parchment, we won't have to have someone monitoring it all day."

"Excellent," Harry said in a distracted tone. He hadn't realized his mum came from such a poor part of town. _At least she had a backyard,_ Harry thought, _even if it is the size of a postage stamp._ He had to lift the gate up over the packed dirt and hold it in place to align the latch properly. Harry trailed behind Ollivander, who was already striding off in the direction of the vine of hops. How he knew where to go, Harry didn't know.

Once they reached the road, they flipped their flashlights off and traveled by the light of the stars. At least,Harry did. He mostly squinted at the wandmaker's back and followed the occasional glint of light off the man's silver hair. One street over and three houses down, Ollivander stopped.

Harry barely managed to stop his face from plowing into the wandmaker's back and he blew out his breath in a puff of air. He clenched his teeth to prevent a complaint from forming about the abrupt halt. No doubt he would sound whiny and young, which was the last thing he wanted with this ancient wizard.

"The hops wind in and around the front porch lattice." Ollivander said.

Harry looked at the wandmaker. "You can see a lattice?" He wanted to ask how he could tell there was a front porch. Maybe he should get his glasses checked.

"You can't?" Ollivander asked back, before shaking his head and letting out a soft laugh. "Of course not. I'd forgotten you can't see that living things have a glow to them. The flowers are a bit brighter. "

Tucking that detail away, Harry stayed close to Ollivander while they walked across hard-packed dirt littered with sticks, rocks, and a few tufts of grass that crackled underfoot.

"I'm going to take a few cuttings off the vines. You start picking the flowers." Ollivander's whisper barely carried to Harry's ear.

Harry knew they couldn't afford a light would be pointed in all directions so close to the road, but picking flowers in virtual darkness seemed impossible. Nevertheless, he ran his hands along the dark foliage till his hands found what felt like a soft pine cone the size of his thumb. He pulled it off and rolled it around on his palm. The damp, soft scales of the cone were like no other flower he'd planted for his aunt.

"Is this a hop flower?" He asked in a hushed voice, placing the miniature pine cone-like thing in the wandmaker's hand.

Ollivander squeezed his hand shut, his fist a blob in the night. "It sticks together when I compress it, see?" He dumped the smaller ball back in Harry's hand. "And it's a touch wet. What we're looking for will be dry and papery."

Harry went to work plucking hops flowers by touch. He was glad the thick, succulent leaves contrasted well with the ripe, dry little cones. Without being able to see what he was doing, he was sure he missed some. He glanced over his shoulder at the front door. He couldn't see any light in there, but the rustling leaves sounded awfully loud to him.

His hands flew up and down the trellis, searching for ripe cones he'd missed when the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He dropped a last flower in his pocket and turned around, reaching for his wand as he faced the door.

A black shape leaned against the blacker background of an open doorway, and Harry took a step back in shock. How had the door opened without him hearing a sound?

He raised his wand to cast a stunner at the unexpected threat when a silky voice interrupted him.

"Mr. Potter, I see you're still stealing my potions ingredients. Gryffindors don't change their spots after all."

To be continued

* Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, page 649.


	47. Chapter 46

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

From the last chapter:

_ A black shape leaned against the blacker background of an open doorway, and Harry took a step back in shock. How had the door opened without him hearing a sound?_

_ He raised his wand to cast a stunner at the unexpected threat when a silky voice interrupted him._

_ "Mr. Potter, I see you're still stealing my potions ingredients. Gryffindors don't change their spots after all." _

Chapter 46

Harry's mouth opened and the shut without saying a word. What were the chances that the house with hops winding around the front porch was Snape's? From what Remus said, his mum and Snape grew up near each other, but still, there were dozens of houses around!

"Silent for once, Mr. Potter?" The shadow in the doorway drew nearer. "Well, as they say, silence is golden."

That obnoxious comment loosened his tongue, but Harry cut off an objection that they weren't stealing potions ingredients. It was a little late for that. His wand arm dropped to his side, and he wondered if that reflex was wise. "Hops aren't used in potions," he said in the end.

Starlight cast a faint glimmer across a Snape's teeth when he smiled, or perhaps he grimaced. Harry couldn't tell which. "Some would argue that brewing beer is making a potion. My father certainly would, muggle though he was." The leaves rustled when Snape plucked a flower off. "Perhaps you would care to quit making a spectacle of yourself and come inside?"

Harry froze, indecision rooting him to the ground. Snape didn't know Ollivander was here yet, since the wandmaker had been potting his cuttings on the other side of the trellis. Part of Harry wanted to hide his presence – hide the person that had been so influential in the Order's success at the manor. The other half of Harry argued Snape was trustworthy. He'd seen that with his own eyes via the loyalty clock and his visions through the wand. One of those methods might be faulty, but not both.

Harry decided that he could at least trust Hermione's clocks. "Only if you're willing to host two instead of one." He twisted his body to see if the wandmaker had come around the porch yet.

"One Gryffindor might be all I can tolerate tonight," Snape's voice held a sneering tone,

Harry ignored him. After running himself through the wringer over this man time and time again over the past several days, he just didn't have the energy to argue.

"I'm afraid I never was a Gryffindor," Ollivander stepped onto the porch, two bulky packages in his arms. His silver hair gleamed where it caught the light of the night.

The whites of Snape's eyes grew larger, reflecting a bit more of the starlight back at Harry. "After my most esteemed guests, then." Snape's arm gestured toward the inside of the house, a movement more seen than heard as his robes rustled against the door frame.

Harry couldn't see Snape's face, but he was sure one side of his lip would be drawn up into his trademark sneer, twisting the meaning of that simple, courteous phrase. Still, removing themselves from prying eyes would be wise. Harry passed by Snape, searching with his feet for any steps into the house. Sure enough, a half-step into the house would have caused Harry to trip and fall on his face if he'd been less careful.

He walked several steps into the dark house, just enough for Ollivander and Snape to file in after him and shut the door. The scent of old parchment and books greeted him.

The door closed with a click, and Harry wondered if Snape had used a silencing charm on the door to surprise him. He was sure Mad-Eye Moody would have been warned by the stir of air on his skin when the door opened. Harry shook his head at himself. He had a long ways to go to be that aware of his surroundings.

"Do you have a room that's safe to light a wand in?" Harry asked. He really didn't want to carry on this conversation in the dark any longer than he had to.

"The cupboard under the stairs has no windows." Snape's voice stayed steady, giving no hint of his knowledge that Harry had spent his first eleven years sleeping in just such a cupboard.

Harry sighed and moved to the side. "We'll follow you, then."

After they were shut in the cupboard, Ollivander cast a light spell. Not the typical _lumos_, though - he cast the goblin's growing light spell. Judging by the peace settling over him, causing the tension in his muscles to release, Ollivander had made more than just the sixteen wands for the goblins. Hopefully this one didn't have Harry's hair melded into the core. He didn't need humans getting their hands on that till he was well and safely dead.

He rolled his shoulders once and pulled them back to distract himself from that cheerful thought. Perhaps Ollivander had deemed that spell necessary to ensure everyone had all the requisite body parts in the right spots at the end of this meeting.

"Well, Potter?" Snape arched an eyebrow at the smaller wizard in front of him. "Why on earth are you stealing my hops flowers at all hours of the night?"

Harry shuffled his feet and looked down. He couldn't even argue that they weren't stealing, and that made him feel like a naughty school-boy caught red-handed. "They're more like cones than flowers," he said, just to be contradictory.

Snape snorted. "That's immaterial. I require these hops to make the finest beer around." He drew himself up to his full, considerable height and looked down his nose at the boy. "I've cast greenhouse spells on the porch to allow early maturation of the blooms, but I'm sure you were too thick to notice. That ought to have warned you that you were stealing from no ordinary muggle house."

Ollivander interrupted Snape's verbal thrashing. "We're going to use the hops to make yeast cakes for bread. Perhaps we might consider a trade. The ripe flowers and a few cuttings for several loaves of bread?"

Snape's mouth worked for a few moments, and Harry suspected he was swallowing saliva. That's what happened to Harry when he thought about the rich brown crust coating a light, golden loaf of bread. He hadn't known how good he had it when he was at Hogwarts. Even at the Dursleys he got stale bread.

"Fine," the terse word closed the topic of Harry's theft.

_Of course it was only me that was stealing – never the venerable wandmaker, Wendell Ollivander. _Harry blew his breath out and tried to concentrate on the peace pervading the closet. The sound was surprisingly loud in the closed space.

Snape pulled out a battered and scratched pocket watch and checked the time. "I must be going soon. If you have nothing else you wish to communicate..."

Harry knew he'd never get a better time to bring up the subject of the curse. Perhaps Ollivander was right to think one of them might lose their heads in this conversation, literally or figuratively. Personally, he doubted the peace of the new wand was enough to overcome years of hatred and abuse of and by Snape.

He decided the best way to bring up the subject was to avoid all mention of Snape's personal humiliation 5th year when Harry dove into his pensieve and viewed Snape's worst memory. The memory where Snape cursed his Dad.

"It's been pointed out that I've been cursed," Harry began.

Snape's eyes narrowed before they flicked up to Harry's scar.

Harry smoothed his fringe over his forehead to try to hide it from his potions teacher. "Not that curse," he said, words beginning to tumble out one after the other so fast they were hardly intelligible. "Although there's a foul, putrid green curse associated with that particular one. This curse is a shimmery black, and the only thing that stops it from killing me through horrendous bad luck of some sort is the protection from my mother's love." Harry gulped in air, and glanced at Snape to see if he understood it.

Judging by the man's hands clenching and unclenching at his side, Snape did. It must be all those years of listening to adolescent children that did the trick. At least Harry wouldn't have to repeat that awful truth.

"Must I point out that you actually have disgustingly good luck?" Snape inquired. "How many times have you caught the snitch in some ridiculous manner? How many time have you escaped the Dark Lord's clutches?" He drew closer in the small space, watching with a small, satisfied smile when Harry backed up against the opposite wall, cupboard door and Ollivander to his left. Not that he'd backed up much. A mere reflexive half step, but that was enough for Snape.

Harry shook his head in disagreement, determined to get Snape to see reason. The potions master had to take the curse off, but he wasn't even believing it was there! And Harry hadn't even told Snape who had cast it!

"I usually have terrible luck just before things turn out in the end," Harry pointed out. "First year we couldn't find the headmaster no matter how we tried, and none of the teacher's believed us that Tom was going to steal the sorcerer's stone. Second year I was at the wrong place at the wrong time over and over. Being caught with Mrs. Norris just after she'd been paralyzed, and what kind of luck does it take to get me up on a table in front of the whole school while I find out I'm a parselmouth? I didn't even know what that was back then."

Harry was sure his face was flushed red when he finished that speech. Snape had stayed quiet throughout it, a shock in and of itself.

"Even if this curse exists – and I'm not saying it does; everyone has bad luck at times – who told you about it?"

Harry looked at Ollivander for help. He wasn't sure if talking about the Njarishka would fall into the category of breaking his contract, since he didn't think she ever visited Gringotts proper. Harry had a feeling Snape would suss out any lie at this point.

Ollivander shook his head and gestured for Harry to continue, making it clear this was Harry's job.

Harry sighed and decided to go for the truth. "I'm not sure if I can tell you because it might be covered under a contract I signed that said I would be killed if I reveled certain things. I'm sure you understand about things like that." Harry stared hard at Snape.

This time, Snape took a half-step back, head rearing back like he'd been struck. Harry had never seen such a stark reaction. Then Snape tilted his head to the side in query.

Harry nodded, a small jerk, his green eyes staring straight into the man's coal black ones. Harry knew Snape would cast a nonverbal legilimens, that he would know Harry knew about his loyalty, and that he knew about Snape's vow to Tom Riddle to protect his health from the forgetting disease. Thankfully, the vow only precluded Snape from communicating to others about Tom's condition. Harry could communicate to Snape all he wanted about it.

Snape turned to the side and stared at the blank wall for several long seconds. Harry could tell he wanted to pace. The man's legs would twitch every now and again, while his arms would jerk forward a tiny amount before stopping.

Harry glanced at Ollivander, wondering what he should do. The wandmaker nodded his approval at Harry, but said nothing once again. So Harry waited.

Snape turned back to the other two in the cramped closet under the stairs. "Can we assume the person who informed you of this curse is both telling the truth and knows what they're doing?"

Visions of Trelawny with a sherry bottle dangling from her hand while stumbling through the corridors ran through Harry's mind, and he nodded vigorously. "I'd rate this person on the same level as Firenze."

Snape's lips flattened. "That brings us to the pertinent question: why are you telling me this? As much as I wished to cast a curse on you to control your shenanigans throughout the years, I can guarantee I never followed through on my many, delightful daydreams."

Harry had no doubt that Snape daydreamed about cursing him,. "I have no doubt that's true," he began in as diplomatic a tone as possible, "But my source indicated that this curse was a line-ending spell designed to kill first my father, and then me."

"Why not your mother?" Snape's reply seemed automatic, his intonations flat.

Harry thought for a moment, stumped. The vision he saw suggested Snape, of course, but he had no solid reason to give if he was going to keep that secret. "My dad was a git and my mum wasn't?"

"Is that a question?"

"I suppose not." Harry said, and then he explained his theory that the curse first tempered his father's arrogance, which allowed him to gain his mum's affection. James Potter's success grew, and when Harry's dad had everything he wanted – his wife, a son on the way– the curse struck to take it all away. His worse nightmare. Sybil Trelawny uttered a prophecy that sent Tom Riddle on a path of destruction in his effort to conquer the Chosen One before he grew up into a strong enough wizard to challenge him. James died, knowing his wife and child were defenseless.

Ollivander took up the narrative at this point. "The line-ending curse transferred to Harry once his father died, and no doubt James Potter had to watch, dead but not gone yet, while his wife gave her life for their son. But Lily's sacrifice was able to transmute the curse, to hobble it. Now it caused bad luck; it worsened Harry's living conditions. This, too, would fulfill the curse, if James were to watch everything he feared happen to his own son from...wherever he is right now.

"At the end of each school year, as his mother's protection weakened from long absence from the Dursleys, the curse begins to gain ascendancy, allowing Tom Riddle greater latitude in his efforts at destroying this boy."

"Only the _imperius_ curse can force people to take specific actions like that!" Snape's protest was a sharp contrast with the horror dawning across his face. "That couldn't have been combined with a life-ending curse." His voice weakened.

"No, those two curses weren't combined." Ollivander answered now, his voice a whisper in the uncomfortably hot and stuffy narrow confines. "It was a child's wish, fueled by rage and hatred against a cruel torturer. A wish that the other child experience his worse nightmare."

Snape's face lost all color, but otherwise showed no reaction. Finally, a snarl ripped across his face, and he leaned forward till he was almost nose to nose with Harry. "I told you to never tell anyone that memory!" Spittle from his mouth splashed on Harry's face.

Harry didn't dare wipe it away. He shook his head. "I didn't! I wouldn't!" He stopped and took a deep breath. "I just told him my dad was a horrible git and you cast a spell that didn't work on him when you had the chance." Harry looked at the grey wall next to him. "It wasn't any worse than what I did to Malfoy last year."

Snape didn't respond this time. He turned around completely to hide his face, hands clenched tightly at his side. "It never made sense that Lily wouldn't accept my apologies for that day. Now I know why. I did it to myself." A harsh laugh burst out of his throat and echoed in the enclosed space.

Harry winced at the pain rolling through that laugh, the anger and self-loathing. He could feel it. He tried to close his mind against the pain radiating from Severus Snape, but he couldn't. For minutes that stretched into eons, all three men in the cupboard existed in the maelstrom of an emotional storm that raged through the potions master.

Finally, the utter agony abated. Not that the emotions were any less strong. No, Snape pulled them in, blood dripping from hands that had been pierced by fingernails, his breaths coming in fierce pants.

Harry's knees were weak, and his legs shook. He leaned his weight against the wall till he felt stronger.

Almost quieter than Harry could hear, Snape's voice explained. "I did this all to myself. All of it. Losing Lily. Joining the Death Eaters. Bringing that cursed prophecy to the Dark Lord. Decades of spying, living as the hated potions master of Hogwarts. All of it for a wish for James Potter to have his greatest nightmare come true." He ran trembling, bloody hands through greasy hair.

"Let's end it then!" Harry's eyes were alight with fire. "Let's end this nightmare we're all in. My dad may have deserved this for what he did," Harry wasn't even going to try to argue that point, "but we don't."

"How?" That one word stumbled out of Snape's mouth, his body drooping with fatigue.

Harry turned to Ollivander. He'd thought Snape would know. Could they even reverse wish magic?

The ancient wandmaker took off his glasses and and with a trembling hand polished them with a handkerchief plucked from his robes. "Rooting out wish magic is at best a ticklish proposition. The most effective way to reverse the curse would be to fulfill it in a nonlethal way."

He replaced his glasses and met the eye of both wizards in the closet. Harry first, then Severus. "I propose that James Potter's worst nightmare would be to watch someone he loathes to the uttermost extreme enter into an equal partnership with his son to end the tyranny of the darkest wizard of this age. Think of the honors that would shower down on both of you, together. I'm sure he would be suitably horrified."

Harry looked at Snape. The man looked away, but gave one curt nod.

Harry glanced around as if he could see his parents watching him, watching this moment. "Dad, if you're watching, you'd better make this your worst nightmare!"

Harry thought he heard a ghostly voice laugh, "_No need, son. It already is. Ouch, Lily... I'm just telling the truth!"_

Suppressing a smile, he released his grip on the wand he hadn't known he'd grasped, and Harry reached out a hand toward his hated teacher.

Severus Snape looked at it like he'd proffered used toilet paper, but he still shook Harry's hand with a limp grasp before dropping it like it was diseased. "Together, then, we'll defeat the Dark Lord."

The look of distaste never left Snape's face.

To be continued...


	48. Chapter 47

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling...

From the last chapter:

_ Suppressing a smile, Harry released his grip on the wand he hadn't known he'd grasped, and he reached out a hand toward his hated teacher._

_ Severus Snape looked at it like he'd proffered used toilet paper, but he still shook Harry's hand with a limp grasp before dropping it like it was diseased. "Together, then, we'll defeat the Dark Lord." _

_ The look of distaste never left Snape's face._

Chapter 47

Harry stared at Snape in the cramped cupboard under the stairs at Spinner's End, waiting for something momentous to happen.

Nothing did. No warm feeling flooded through him. No joyous burst of release from the sword of Damocles that had hung over him since his father's death. Nothing.

Snape stared back at him, eyes hooded, till a hiss of pain escaped through clenched teeth, and he clasped his left arm with one hand.

He looked at Snape's arm, then back at the potion's master, and understanding dawned. Tom must be calling him.

Snape whirled around, his robes brushing against Ollivander and Harry in the narrow confines. He grabbed two bags and shoved them at Harry. The first bag was identical to the one Snape had given the Order earlier, and Harry assumed it was full of food. The second held a few tins in a plastic grocery sack. "Here. You can deliver these. The first is for the Order, and the second one has to be placed in the oak tree with the ground washed out underneath it at the park a few streets over. She'll be expecting it."

"She?" Harry managed to get out as Snape slid by Ollivander and out the open door. A trickle of light from the cupboard spilled out into a room covered with books. Stacks and piles littered the floor, and the walls were covered from floor to ceiling. Harry poked his head out. The entire wall hiding the stairs was plastered with books. He didn't look, but he suspected the cupboard door was covered with tomes as well.

Snape ignored the question. "Give me three ripe hops flowers. I'll need them."

The urgency in Snape's voice prompted Harry to plunge his hand into his expanded pocket and grab the ripest flowers he could feel. He pulled out the papery cones by their dry petals and shoved them into Snape's waiting hands. The potions master pulled the flowers close till they almost touched his nose, and he examined them in the light from the closet.

He nodded once, spun on his heel, and grabbed a dark bottle with a cork in it from the battered table by the bookshelves opposite the stairs. "Lock the doors behind you. I'll know how long you stayed and what you did, so try to refrain from snooping, Potter."

One loud pop and the potions master disappeared.

The lack of trust - Harry felt wounded to the core. Then he grinned to himself. Not really.

"He knows you well," Ollivander observed. "_Nox_," he put out the light, plunging them into complete darkness.

Harry blinked, still seeing faint reddish-orange images of the room on the backs of his eyelids. He let the jab slide. Just because he would have searched the house didn't mean he had to admit it.

As he hefted the bags, Harry asked, "Shall we go find this playground with its mysterious oak tree?"

"Indeed," Ollivander murmured.

They exited the house through the kitchen door at the back of the house. Ollivander paused to lay one hand on a pine tree after Harry found it by floundering into its branches. He was sure the wandmaker had stifled a snort at that.

"The playground is several streets to the north, from what I can tell," Ollivander said as he skirted the tree and walked out the fence gate hanging from one hinge.

"I thought trees wouldn't let you spy?" Harry asked, lengthening his stride to keep up with the swift wandmaker.

"On people," Ollivander replied. "Trees don't mind helping me find other trees. I didn't ask for a picture of who's retrieved Snape's packages, and so I received an answer."

Harry reflected on that as they walked to the park. Ollivander's step was quick and sure in the darkness, while Harry tripped over potholes and uneven bumps in the road. These roads must have received little in the way of repair work over the last few years, which was hardly surprising for a run-down neighborhood on the outskirts of London.

The ground under his feet changed from unyielding asphalt to hard-packed dirt mixed with rocks worn smooth with the passage of time. A branch from a scrubby bush snapped into him after Ollivander passed it, and Harry struggled to split his attention between the uneven ground in front of him and the new hazards posed by the overgrown park.

The dirt underneath his feet changed to shreds of bark and wood, and Harry squinted in the dark to find the sharp lines of one lone swing set. A small park, indeed, but he could imagine his mum soaring to great heights on it. His smile disappeared when he tripped over an unseen branch on the ground, catching himself with both hands to avoid a complete face plant in the splintery pieces of wood. Harry muffled a groan. They couldn't afford to alert the person who might be waiting for the delivery of these tins.

With careful motions he pulled himself to his feet and searched for glints of starlight reflecting off Ollivander's hair. A bit to his left, he saw the wandmaker's retreating shape. Harry held his hands out in front of him and paid close attention to the ground under his feet while catching up. He imagined this must be how blind people felt – never able to know if they would trip over an out-of-place object in front of them.

By lengthening his stride, he fell in line behind Ollivander just before they came to a thicket of trees surrounding the far end of the playground. He could tell they were trees because they blotted out the stars overhead, and the sound of crickets chirping became somewhat muted, as if great bodies were between Harry and the loud insects. The damp leaves underneath his feet had more of a papery sound than did grass or dirt.

Harry jumped when Ollivander placed one hand on his shoulder to guide him behind a tree. He'd been so intent on identifying the sounds in his environment that he'd forgotten about the people. All of his self-satisfaction fled, replaced by a determination to learn to juggle awareness of his environment with all possible threats.

"Harry, stay here and look for the person who comes for the sack. I'll position myself on the other side of the oak tree after I deliver the food. I suspect she'll be along soon, judging by the Professor Snape's urgency. We'll decide what to do then."

Harry nodded in reply, and then smiled sheepishly. Ollivander couldn't see the motion in the dark. Or could he? "Yes," he whispered in agreement, just in case.

The wandmaker slid away from him, making hardly a sound as he pressed forward. Harry soon lost sight of him, and he settled down to watch in the direction the wandmaker left. After searching the darkness for long minutes on end, Harry looked up at the sky, hoping the moon would show its face soon to give them more light.

His fingers itched to use his wand to light the thicket of trees, despite the fact such a move would warn off the person they waited for, as well as attract the more dangerous muggles desperate for food. He hadn't realized what a gift light was – the ability to light a room or place whenever he wished – before tonight. He'd be glad to get back to the manor and away from the reminders of all that had changed.

Long, dull minutes crawled by, and the activities of the evening caught up to him. His eyelids grew heavy and his head nodded, bobbing several times before his chin hit his breastbone, jerking him back awake. Fog clouded Harry's vision now, and he blinked, struggling to make himself stay alert. There were no clouds in the sky, and he didn't think rivers typically put out a fog. Not like this, where he could hardly see his hand in front of his face.

The unnatural mist must be magical in nature, but not from a dementor, since no sweeping depression encroached upon his heart with icy fingers. He closed his eyes, clutched his wand, and focused on seeing through the thick miasma in front of him.

He opened his eyes and saw a thin figure wrapped in dark clothing skitter from one tree to the other. A blue light reflected off the ground, bouncing up and down when the person stumbled across the rough ground.

A sharp crack snapped through the thicket of trees, and the head rose up, listening for further noise that shouldn't be there. That long neck – twice the length of any regular muggle – made Harry peer closer. He'd recognize those pursed, horsy lips anywhere!

"Aunt Petunia?" The words spilled out of the shocked Harry. He lumbered to his feet – limbs feeling unnaturally heavy, and then went sprawling into the damp bracken underneath the trees. He lost his grip on his wand, and the fog slammed back down on him, but not before he caught a glimpse of wide eyes and fear cross his aunt's face.

Harry scrambled to his feet again, calling out, trying to modulate his voice to carry just far enough. "Aunt Petunia, it's me! Harry. Don't leave!" His hand closed around his wand again, and he saw his aunt retreating back past the swing set, the bag full of tins in her hand.

He blew his breath out in frustration and spun around to find Ollivander. The wandmaker held his hand out in front of him as he felt his way back toward the playground, blinded by the fog. A part of Harry's mind noted the odd fact that he could see quite well in the dark now, something he'd been struggling with all evening. It must be the result of his wish-spell to see through the magical fog.

Whatever the reason, Harry was grateful for the ability to hop over dead branches and bound around trees while he ran back to Ollivander. "Hold onto my cloak," Harry said, grabbing the older man's hand, guiding it to his robes, and turning back around. "We've got to find out where they're hiding!"

Dim light spilled around his Aunt's fleeing form already turning the corner of the street. Harry hurried across the park and cut through yards in his pursuit. Ollivander's hand closed tight around his robes, bunching them in the back and pulling against Harry's throat, choking him a bit.

Their feet thundered over the road, but Harry didn't care. He suspected the powerful illusions his aunt threw out in her fear would cover any sound they made.

Within short order, Harry saw his aunt disappear into a familiar house with peeling green paint and lopsided shutters. His mother's childhood house – the house they searched that very evening.

"What?" Indignation colored the word as it slipped out. "How?" He sputtered into silence.

A soft laugh came from behind him. "An excellent illusion. I suspect your aunt may be a magical savant – good at only one type of magic. Hiding, in this case. She'd look like a muggle unless you tested her in the precise area she's capable in."

"But – you can either do magic, or you can't!" Harry's whisper came out with a hard edge of disbelief while they crept around to the back door.

"Not always," Ollivander contradicted while Harry lifted the side gate and swung it outwards. "Take Gilderoy Lockhart for example. He was a dab hand with memory charms, as we all know now. But did you ever see him perform another spell successfully?"

Harry had to admit he hadn't. Perhaps that old fraud had managed to make his way through Hogwarts by memory charming the teachers. He wouldn't put it past him. "But how would he even get a Hogwarts letter then, if Aunt Petunia didn't?"

"An interesting question," Ollivander said, as if he were lecturing Harry back at the manor instead of sneaking over the pebbles and dirt of a backyard in some run down part of London.

Harry had to strain to hear the next part of Ollivander's thought when they came to a halt in front the back door. Harry cast a _silencio_ on it to ensure their surprise entry.

"Lockhart may have had enough magic for the most basic of spells, and his father likely had enough sway with Hogwart's governing board that an invitation went out. Only the ability to accomplish magic over a broad range of subjects will put a child's name on Hogwart's roles automatically."

Harry thought about that. How would his life have changed if his aunt's magic had been trained? He shrugged his shoulders; he'd never know. Maybe his aunt would have been killed right along with his mother. Perhaps she would have insisted on hiding his mum and dad, thus falling under the wrath of Tom Riddle as well, leaving no one to anchor the magic of his mother's protection spell.

Even though Harry had suspected his aunt had the ability to make her neighbors and his teachers see what she wished, watching it in action tonight left him feeling torn. Part of him wanted to roll on the ground and laugh himself silly. His aunt was one of the very freaks she had condemned all her life! The other part was disbelieving. Could she have her magic under conscious control? Or did she assume herself lucky – that people just happened to forget to search where she and her family hid, that fog just happened to accompany her on her trips to retrieve Snape's food?

And that opened a whole different pen of blast-ended screwts. Snape had said he hadn't seen any trace of Petunia. Did he lie, or did he find Petunia after that conversation with Dumbledore's portrait? Perhaps the most pressing question of all was why he gave food to Petunia at all? Was it to keep Harry's blood protection from his mother alive?

Harry shook the questions from his head, cocking his head to one side when he heard a furious whisper from inside the house.

"Don't eat all of that food now! What happens when it runs out?" Petunia's harsh voice snapped.

"But mum!" Dudley whined, his full mouth distorting the words.

"Hush!"

The soft sound of footsteps walking away from Harry toward the opposite end of the house met his ears. Petunia must think she'd lost them. The fog was dissipating and nearly gone.

Harry scanned the outside of the house with a new eye. On his left he could see windows belonging to the bedrooms and bathroom, but to his right was a room he'd never searched. Behind the kitchen must lay a parlor or dining room. He shook his head in admiration; he'd never realized the room was there. He and Ollivander must have walked past the doorway to that room when they left earlier.

"Perhaps we should cast a sleep spell on your family?" Ollivander's quiet voice drifted no further than Harry's ears.

Harry took one step closer to the man while considering the idea. "They'd hate us, but it might be the easiest way to go. They're afraid of magic, see."

Ollivander's teeth flashed in a broad smile. "That may have changed over the last few weeks. Surely your aunt has noticed what she's doing."

Harry gritted his jaw as he remembered long years of stubborn denial by his aunt due to her efforts to seem normal. "I doubt it. I'm sure they've found some way to explain away the odd coincidences."

"Perhaps then, we should offer them food. That, combined with your presence, would surely persuade them to listen."

Listen to what, Harry didn't know, but he nodded his head in agreement, twisted the doorknob and opened the silent door. With light feet he slipped into the hallway and placed himself before the parlor door that he could now see. Keeping his hand tight on his wand, he raised his voice. "Aunt Petunia, I've brought you food. It's me, Harry."

To be continued...


	49. Chapter 48

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

From the last chapter...

_ Ollivander's teeth flashed in a broad smile. "That may have changed over the last few weeks. Surely your aunt has noticed what she's doing."_

_ Harry gritted his jaw as he remembered long years of stubborn denial by his aunt due to her efforts to seem normal. "I doubt it. I'm sure they've found some way to explain away the odd coincidences."_

_ "Perhaps then, we should offer them food. That, combined with your presence, would surely persuade them to listen."_

_ Listen to what, Harry didn't know, but he nodded his head in agreement, twisted the doorknob and opened the silent door. With light feet he slipped into the hallway and placed himself before the parlor door that he could now see. Keeping his hand tight on his wand, he raised his voice. "Aunt Petunia, I've brought you food. It's me, Harry." _

Chapter 48

"Freak!" The piercing shriek reverberated down the narrow hallway from the kitchen to the backdoor of Lily's childhood home.

Harry turned to the side and ducked, snagging a tin of pears out of the air as it passed overhead. His aunt couldn't feel too threatened by him, else she wouldn't have chucked her last bit of food at him.

He stepped to the side, years of experience coming to the fore as he dodged the quick hand darting in to pinch his ear. How could she see well enough in the dark hall to accomplish that? His vision was clear, since part of his mind focused on his need to see while holding his wand in one hand.

Flicking a glance over his shoulder answered that question. Ollivander had cast _lumos_, and the light spell illuminated the tip of his regular wand. Pity. His relatives could have used the calm and peace from the goblin wand.

Harry held out both hands in front of him, wand still clenched in one fist. "Aunt Petunia, I'm here to help -"

"Well you're a mite bit late, aren't you?" Withering sarcasm filled Petunia's voice. "After that hoodlum – that freak – kicked us out of our own home!" Indignation reduced her to speechlessness, her body shuddering with anger hardly contained.

"Who?" Harry asked. A death eater wouldn't have left his relatives alive, and none of the order would have abandoned them to their own devices.

Petunia ignored his question. "The nerve of that man – taking a respectable, normal woman's home away from her! What was Lily thinking of when she took up with him? Trash, that's what he was. Freakish trash!"

Harry wiped the spittle from off his face with a grimace. He would have expected that level of fury from Uncle Vernon. "But if he kicked you out - " he was sure Snape had done the dastardly deed since he lived close by, "Why did you come here and take food from him, then?"

Petunia raised her nose high in the air and sniffed before looking away. "We ran out of food, and he promised Lily to help us if we needed it. I heard her _make_ him promise!" A triumphant smile stretched across her face. "He was always besotted with her. That beastly boy kicked us out when I knew he could just as easily transport us here. We had to walk forty kilometers! My poor Dudder's feet are covered with blisters."

Harry watched, fascinated, as Aunt Petunia's nostrils narrowed and widened with each impassioned declaration. Snape had that affect on people, although that "beastly boy" had clearly made arrangements to deliver them food. Not much, a part of him noted with glee, but enough to keep them alive.

"Where's Uncle Vernon and Dudley?" Harry asked.

"Snoring away, no doubt. The end of the world wouldn't wake those two. They fall asleep at all hours of the day these days."

How odd. He was sure he'd heard Dudley's voice complaining only minutes ago. Perhaps Petunia's magic sent them to sleep when she'd heard Harry's voice call out to her. He suspected she sent Harry and Ollivander to sleep at the playground. Awe he had no trouble hiding spilled through him. Her magic was tremendous when it came to hiding and protecting her family. Did she even know she was doing it?

Harry peered closer at his aunt's face, noting new, deep lines underscored by weariness. He'd never heard her speak ill her husband and son before. No doubt the burden of dragging those two along behind her had soured their perfect image in her eyes. Their best use would be as a pair of meaty fists, but they would most likely pick the wrong fight and end up dead anyway.

Harry cocked his head to the side, sifting through the sounds of night time to find the rip-roaring snore he knew both male Dursleys possessed. Nothing.

He looked askance at his aunt, and her lips tightened at his impertinence.

"The parlor has excellent sound-proofing qualities."

_Or does it?_ Harry wondered while they opened the the door and looked inside. The room was hardly worthy of the name. Ramshackle furniture had been pushed to the side to make way for two large lumps in the center. The stench of rotting carpet mixed with human urine and feces rose to his nose, making Harry's gorge rise in his throat. He swallowed hard and continued surveying the room.

Broken bookshelves held worthless knickknacks, and no pictures adorned the tattered wall. His aunt must have been desperate to accept these living conditions. Still, it was the biggest room in the house, and that allowed her to keep a protective eye on her two erstwhile charges.

Vernon turned onto his side, and his buzzing snore turned to a whistle. Dudley moaned and whimpered in his sleep, begging for more food.

Harry glanced back at Ollivander standing in the doorway, searching for guidance, but the man seemed content to let Harry take the lead in dealing with his family.

"We've got to take all of you to a safe place," Harry said, not looking at his aunt. He didn't want to deal with the thunderous look he knew crossed her face. His muscles tensed, and his left hand clenched into a ball.

Several seconds passed without the expected explosion, and Harry looked at her out of the corner of his eye. His aunt's lips were pursed, and she drummed her fingers on the pants of her filthy trousers. Harry couldn't distinguish any particular stench coming from her, but that didn't say much considering the reek of this house.

He turned his body a few inches to the side to catch more visible details, interested in how these last few weeks had changed his aunt. Her hair wasn't particularly greasy. Maybe she washed it in water from the river not too far away, though he doubted it was clean enough to drink. Her nails, previously manicured to perfection, looked ragged, like they'd been bitten down to the nail bed. Her clothes hung on her, evidence of the weight she'd lost, but so did his.

Aunt Petunia had done well for her family, all things considered.

"Will there be food to eat where you would take us?" Petunia's stiff reply brought the worst out in Harry.

He opened his mouth to say no, as a partial, spiteful revenge for all the years she'd refused him decent food. But he closed his mouth again, imagining Hermione's horrified gasp if she'd learned he'd lost the Dursleys due to childish taunting.

Harry sighed. "Yes, there's food. It's often not good, but it's enough to keep us alive." He remembered the blob of slimy, slippery seaweed from this morning. Yesterday morning, by now.

"_Us_?" The suspicious word held layers of meaning.

"Yes, freaks like me, but there are a few muggles, er, normal people like you," Harry said. _Not that you'll be seeing them. _No doubt if allowed free reign in the Manor, Vernon and Dudley would rampage through it in a desperate bid to eat enough to support their rotund bodies. At least they would try. Harry would love to see what would happen to those two when confronted with Molly's or Ginny's tempers.

Petunia's fingers drummed faster on her pants before coming to an abrupt halt. "We'll come," she announced, as if bestowing an enormous favor.

And she was, even if she didn't know it. With her safe, Harry's protection from his mother would last longer.

Ollivander stepped forward now. "Gather any items you might wish from this room. We have only a few short minutes we can spare from our mission."

Harry shot the man a questioning glance while Petunia lumped their few belongings – ragged blankets, a few tins of carefully hoarded food, and three dented and dinged water bottles. Petunia wrapped these meager items in a comforter she pulled from the third pallet on the floor and stood up straight.

"Take these two first," She pointed a bony finger at the piles of rising and falling blankets.

Harry blinked with surprise that his aunt knew wizards could only side-apparate one person at a time. Harry dug through the blankets nearest him and closed a hand around Dudley's fleshy shoulder. A hint of hardness under the flab bespoke of the hours his cousin spent at a training gym in months gone by, and Harry restrained an impulse to squeeze it to see just how much was flab and how much was muscle.

Magic or no magic, though, he didn't want to deal with an awake Dudley tonight. His aunt could deal with their inevitable rage later.

Harry and Ollivander popped away in rapid succession, Harry appearing in his cousin's bedroom. Judging by the crash from downstairs, Ollivander had landed near the fireplace and knocked the poker over. Harry flew down the stairs two at a time and locked the front and back doors with a spell. They'd never fit through the windows on their own, and he trusted Petunia to not jeopardize her one source of food by stealing. She must know they were here on his sufferance.

He cast a glance around the sitting room. Sure enough, his uncle had landed on the brick just in front of their fireplace and was groaning in his sleep. Harry smiled at that cheerful sight.

With a nod of appreciation to Ollivander, Harry apparated back to his aunt. The lone sound of her tapping foot on the cement peeking through the disintegrating carpet met his ears. Harry approached his aunt with caution.

Her hand, quick as a snake, darted out and snagged his wrist in a tight grip. "Save my family and give us food to eat and water to drink, and you'll always have a place with us, I swear. As I promised Dumbledore." Her lips twisted at the mention of the headmaster.

Her words sent a unnatural warmth thrumming through Harry. "I will," he promised, and that warmth turned into a fire that scoured him from the roots of his hair down to his toenails. His mind filled with memories of Dumbledore explaining how his mother's protection worked: a relative of hers had to take him in and provide him shelter, but Petunia had done so grudgingly.

But now, she'd changed that to a willing offer. Had that strengthened his mother's protection beyond what it had ever been? Harry took a cool breath of air in through his nose and blew it out through his mouth. He'd learn more the next time he visited the Njarishka. Right now he had to concentrate on learning how to destroy horcruxes while leaving the object intact, a necessary step before returning to the goblin nation.

He just hoped Hermione and Ron had made progress on finding the horcrux from Hogwarts. If they were lucky, they'd also find Tom's resources on how to create those horcruxes. There had to be something in there on how to destroy them! Something that wouldn't leave a hole in the middle of Hufflepuff's cup.

With Aunt Petunia's hand still wrapped around his wrist, Harry apparated back to the Dursley's house in the Manor.

Aunt Petunia's mouth fell open in a silent 'o' before she backed up to a chair by the fireplace and sat down with a heavy thump. "My house," she whispered, and then looked out the front window at the stone surrounding the house. "How?" She leaned back, looking faint and close to fainting.

"I moved it to a safer place," Harry said, "with the help of some friends." He glanced at the wandmaker, knowing time must be short for whatever the man had planned next.

Ollivander cleared his voice and stepped into the conversation. "We'll deliver three meals a day, beginning in the morning. I'm afraid for now we must keep the doors locked until we can be sure your husband and son can cope with living in a magical environment."

Petunia laid a long, bony hand over her heart. "Magical?"

Ollivander nodded. "You're surrounded by it, I'm afraid." He smiled apologetically.

Harry jumped in. "But if you stay here, you won't be reminded of that."

Petunia nodded as if in a daze, looking at neither of them. Her shoulders slumped.

"It's time to return to your mother's childhood home," Ollivander spoke to Harry. "That's close enough to where we need to go next. We mustn't lose any time."

Harry straightened and disapparated in response. Judging by the flash of silver in Ollivander's eyes when he spoke, he guessed Ollivander's ability to see general impressions of the future was coming into play. He was already heading out the back door when the wandmaker appeared.

* * *

"Put this rock at the base of the tree," Ollivander handed Harry a smooth brown stone.

"What tree?" Harry asked, his eyebrows drawing together with confusion. Ollivander hadn't been forthcoming about their destination, although their trip through the tree roots had been relatively short. All the wandmaker said was that he didn't know the precise location they were going, just that it was in London. Ollivander had seemed worried by what they were going to do next.

"The tree in the Minister of Magic's office. It was your idea to listen in on death eater conversations through trees. I've anchored eavesdropping charms into this pebble and connected it to my favorite quick quotes quill," Ollivander patted one of his pockets, "one with never-ending ink." He smiled broadly, pleased with himself. "But we won't be able to activate the charm till we return to the Manor, unfortunately, since I didn't bring the quill with me."

"So I'll squeeze up through the trunk of the potted tree in Tom's office and put the rock in the pot?" Harry reiterated the plan to make sure he understood. He'd have to hope Tom wasn't looking in the tree's direction. Fingers popping out of a trunk would alarm him. He'd probably blast the tree to smithereens, and Harry didn't want to find out what happened to someone inside it.

His stomach flipped and then flopped. _Why isn't Ollivander doing this? Surely he has more experience with getting in and out of trees! It's not like I could ever travel this way on my own._ Harry forced the hand grasping Ollivander's to relax.

Ollivander must have noticed Harry's flash of resentment. "I'll be better able to pull us to safety if I'm lower in the tree trunk," he explained.

Harry nodded and accepted the pebble. As they moved from the roots into the base of the tree, Ollivander shifted lower and grabbed Harry's ankle.

A blank mist covered the bark of the tree from the inside. He'd traveled this way enough tonight that he knew mist represented the inside of the tree – the space they were sharing. In reality it was cold, hard wood, but magic had made it insubstantial. Harry reached one hand out to the bark.

Scratchy splinters of wood met his hand as it floated in the barrier separating the tree from the rest of the world. He'd felt this before, although passing through it quickly allowed him to feel less of this rather unpleasant texture. His body shifted closer to the edge of the tree, and he put his face into the bark, though he was careful to not push all the way through.

Harry blinked at the sight in front of him. Tom Riddle was laughing – laughing! - at something Snape said. The potions master crushed up the three ripe hops flowers and placing them in the uncorked bottle he'd taken from his house that night. Snape's eyes flicked to the tree and met Harry's. No expression crossed his face, and Harry wasn't sure if he'd been seen.

Frustration ran through Harry. He couldn't hear a thing! Seeing was hardly useful in this case. He shook his head with frustration, and when his ear passed the bark in front of him, he caught a slice of sound. This might be like making a floo call. If he failed to put his ears into the fire, then he couldn't hear a thing the other person said. Harry shifted his head to the right, allowing his ear to gain full contact with the bark without popping out into the room.

"My father boasted that his homemade beer had restorative power. If there's any truth to that, no doubt it comes from the special variety of hops he planted and I still cultivate at my house."

"Severus, you have served me well tonight."

Liquid swished around in a bottle, and Harry surmised that Tom had drank the beer.

"Excellent quality. I would tell you to send your father my congratulations, but the sod is dead. Just as well." Tom laughed again. "I commend you on the strides you've made with the wit sharpening potion, but you must make those effects long-lasting! I loathe stuttering, and I'm certain I was almost drooling before you came in."

Harry heard the clear distress in Tom's voice beneath the flippancy, as well as the flap of his robes when he drew near the plant. He must be pacing! Harry's heart jumped into his throat, and he pulled his head back, breaking the connection. He might be spotted. What if this was exactly like a floo call, and the imprint of his face or ear could be seen in the bark?

Deciding the risk wasn't worth it, Harry carefully pushed the pebble through the barrier at the base of the tree. He placed one eye against the bark to see if the tiny change had been spotted, and both of his eyes opened with surprise. In the minute he'd been debating, Snape had left, and Bellatrix Lestrange was now giving a report to her master. The adoration on her face sent a wave of nausea rolling through him.

Harry swallowed hard and turned his head, sliding it against the bark to allow his ear to press against it.

"Where is the item I requested, Bellatrix?" The words laced with warning were all the more dangerous for their soft tones.

The rustle of robes sweeping the floor met his ears, and Harry guessed Bellatrix had bowed. "Master, the goblins refused direct access to the vaults. Those filthy varmints dared quote some pathetic rule about emergency procedures. Your order required secrecy above all, and I dared not take them to task as I would have wish. " Her words became muffled at the last, as if she'd bowed so low her head almost touched the floor.

Whoosh! The sound of a spell traveling through the air was loud and close.

Harry started and almost lost his grip on the bark as the plant shook. The clunk of falling plaster told Harry it was most likely a blasting curse. _She must be talking about a horcrux – that's why he didn't kill her for failing! He needs her to access it! But why does he need his horcrux? Wouldn't it be safer isolated in a goblin-controlled vault? _His frowned. No matter the cause, he at least had an idea of where to start his search in Gringotts.

A sibilant hiss full of delight, hate, and rage sang out. "Those goblins dare defy me! Those beasts will rue the day they were born. I will take over their bank and eradicate their race...after we celebrate Harry Potter's birthday."

"Your early birthday surprise for Harry Potter," she spat Harry's name out as if it burned her tongue, "will be ready tomorrow. Announcements go out in the Daily Prophet's evening edition."

Dread formed an icy ball in the pit of Harry's stomach, freezing the rest of him in place.

"And who will be the face of this movement by the ministry designed to protect the common, magical people?" Sarcasm dripped from every word Tom uttered.

"Percy Weasley. A wizard from such a _respectable_ wizarding family will no doubt persuade hundreds of fools to seek protection within the ministry walls." Bellatrix laughed, a simpering, disgusting thing as she fawned over her master.

"And how much draught of living death have you assembled?" The question held a warning note.

A more subdued Bellatrix answered, "We've hundreds of beds ready for those who already have it, but only a few scores of vials prepared. If you would only let us have Snape to brew the rest of the potion..." Her voice ended on a whining note.

Harry heard a body slam into a wall.

"I will decide who brews what!" Tom shouted, enraged. "Tell Slughorn to brew around the clock. I will brook no disobedience. I want hundreds of witches and wizards sleeping in the living death by the middle of next week. Harry's birthday will not go uncelebrated, and this is only the beginning. He becomes of age this year, after all." A high laugh ripped through the room.

Harry shuddered and pulled away. Tom Riddle was planning to take the whole magical world hostage under his guise as minister, at least as many as still trusted the Ministry of Magic. If this was the beginning, what was he planning for his birthday, less than ten days away?

To be continued...


	50. Chapter 49

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

From the last chapter:

_ "I will decide who brews what!" Tom shouted, enraged. "Tell Slughorn to brew around the clock. I will brook no disobedience. I want hundreds of witches and wizards sleeping the living death by the middle of next week. Harry's birthday will not go uncelebrated, and this is only the beginning. He becomes of age this year, after all." A high laugh ripped through the room._

_ Harry shuddered and pulled away. Tom Riddle was planning to take the whole magical world hostage under his guise as minister, at least as many as still trusted the Ministry of Magic. If this was the beginning, what was he planning for his birthday, less than ten days away?_

Chapter 49

"We need to call a meeting!" Harry said, puffs of breath coming out of his mouth in sharp pants after he stumbled out of an orange tree in the manor's mirror room early the next morning. He'd managed to sleep on the return trip from London to the shores of Yorkshire, but that had been a fitful thing, full of starts and shocks as he remembered the snippets he'd heard of Tom Riddle's plan to hold the entire magical world hostage.

As risky as listening in to that conversation had been, Harry was glad he had. Although he hadn't known it, they couldn't have afforded waiting till Ollivander completed the eavesdropping charm by activating the quick quotes quill. Perhaps that was why the wandmaker had felt so urgent about hurrying the Dursleys along.

"Uhhhh?" Neville lifted a groggy head from his hammock, "Whatcha...Harry?"

Harry's swift footsteps jerked to a halt on the hardened soil pathway when he heard Ollivander disagree.

"Harry, any meeting will be more productive if the participants are well-rested. A few hours now will make little difference."

Harry's shoulders slumped. He wanted to shout, to deny that. They had only ten days to prepare, and less than that if they were to counteract the Ministry's plan to house those who drank the draught of living death. But Ollivander was right. They had to think clearly if they were to make an effective plan.

"I'll just go by the library, then. See if Hermione is awake," Harry said.

Ollivander nodded, approval crinkling the corners around his eyes. "Sleep would do you good, too."

Harry consciously stilled his body before nodding. His need to act was coming out in a tapping foot and hands rustling in his pockets, searching for something to help this situation. "I'll try," he promised with a sigh."What time is it, anyway?"

Ollivander looked out the wide panel of windows to their right. "Dawn has not yet arrived. I would estimate it's around two or three in the morning."

"I miss watches that tell real time," Harry said, both hands balled up in his pockets. He turned around and left. "Night, Neville."

Light snoring met his ears, and Harry smiled. Good old Neville had probably fallen back to sleep right away.

Harry didn't take a direct route through the corridors to the library. Despite Ollivander's counsel, his mind worried over the problem of how to protect the people Hogwarts had sent potion to. Even if Harry didn't know those students all that well, he still knew their faces.

Tom's implied threat was clear. People would simply not wake up or the potion would be found faulty if Harry or the Order tried to impede Tom's plans. It was an amazing strategy, really. The blame would fall on Hogwarts and Professor McGonagall for sending out batches of deadly potion, thus driving an even greater number of wizards and witches into the waiting arms of the Ministry. Brilliant. Horrifically brilliant.

"Harry?" A high voice, soft and familiar, stopped Harry in his tracks.

"Hmm?" he said, turning around. Luna's blond hair had a soft, ethereal glow from the hallway light. Her skin looked paler than normal, her body shrouded in a white nightgown that covered her from neck to ankle. Her bare feet must have been soaking up the chill of the stones since she gave a small shiver.

"The nargles will keep bothering you if you just ignore them."

Harry was becoming familiar with Luna-speak. He sat down, leaning his back against the rough hewn stone. She joined him, and Harry rested his head against the wall, looking at the ceiling while he explained their predicament. "...and so my hands are tied. How can I defeat Tom if every time I try, scores of people die?"

Luna sat in silence for minutes, her eyes staring at the opposite wall as if she hadn't heard him, as if she were sitting alone. But finally she folded her hands in her lap and spoke. "Why don't we rescue them from dying then? After they die?"

Harry shook his head, not surprised at the nutty response. "Because the goal is to prevent people from dying, not snatch them back from their next great adventure after they've died. We all die, sooner or later. I just don't want this lot to die now because of me."

"A pity," she sighed, and her jaw trembled a bit before she firmed it. "Right, then. So why don't you make their death later rather than sooner?" She turned her head to look at Harry, one delicate eyebrow raising.

"That's what I'm trying to do," Harry said, groaning at the headache forming behind his eyes. He rubbed his temples. Maybe he should skip the library and just go to bed.

A tinkling laugh danced out of her, and her eyes brightened as if Harry had told a joke."No, I mean, put a barrier between them and death. Or put a barrier between them and those who would do them harm."

Harry gritted his teeth. Luna wasn't usually this obtuse. "If we could do that, then we wouldn't be at war." This basic fact seemed to escape her.

"Oh, Harry." This time she sighed. "Did you forget your wand? I've seen how you can do remarkable things with it. If magic can make a portal to the other side, like the veil in the Department of Mysteries, then why can't you create a barrier?"

Harry stared at Luna. He said nothing for one long moment, his tongue frozen with shock. Was that even possible? What she said made a crazy amount of sense. He wrapped his arms around his knees and drew them up to his chest and thought.

He tried to picture what a barrier would look like. Would it be like gauzy curtains pulled around each person to protect them? Perhaps it would be a wall of sparkling light, reflecting any spell back on the user.

Questions pummeled his brain. How would the death-eater kill the sleeping folk? Poisoning their air? Did people who drank the draught of living death even breath? Would they use _avada kedavra?_ Did that take too much energy to use on hundreds all in one go?

And what was death, anyway? The separating of the soul – the essence of Harry – from the body? And if that exit was blocked, the soul forced to stay in the body, what would happen if that body had a mortal wound, such as a knife to the chest?

Harry's heart pounded, excitement tripped and skittered through his veins, and he had to still his drumming fingers. "Do you have any idea how to make it work? My wand seems to help me extend the effects of already existing spells, it doesn't create new ones." Harry promised himself he wasn't going to access the external pool of magic for this. He'd save hundreds of lives in the short run, but at enormous cost. If Tom Riddle lived as a result of the equalizing boost he would receive, thousands could easily die.

"My mum was working on a way before she died," Luna's matter of fact words came out without emotion, but the slight glistening of tears betrayed her. "She was trying to reverse, or inverse, the _avada kedavra_ spell, but something went wrong."

Harry looked at his worn shoes. "I'm sorry," He didn't really know what to say. Sorry could never make up for losing a parent. He knew.

"Don't be. She died doing what she loved." Luna shifted sideways, pulling her legs up underneath her. Her eyes were hard and determined with no trace of dreaminess now. "The killing curse rips souls from their bodies. She was trying to reverse that – create a spell that strengthened the anchoring between our body and soul so no spell, no magic, could rip it apart."

"Wow." Harry couldn't think of anything else to say. Why had no one tried this before? "It didn't work out, though."

Luna shook her head and looked away, her mouth pulling down at the corners. "Today's the anniversary of my mum's accident. I was watching when she placed the charm on herself and tested it. It had worked on the kittens, you see. But it must take more power for a larger body." She stopped and swallowed before continuing. "If the charm only needs a power boost, your wand might be the key."

Harry worked his tongue around in suddenly parched mouth. "We might want to test it first, Luna," he said, his voice coming out thin and strangled.

"I'm willing to volunteer," her face was serene, her eyes alight with an inner glow.

This time Harry shook his head, vigorously. "Muggles test things on animals first. We're just going to have to find a large enough animal to try it on. If it doesn't work, we can always slaughter it for meat. Maybe Hagrid will have an idea."

Luna's laughter peeled through the corridor, bouncing off walls and creating a harmony of sound. "I think he's got a pen of blast-ended screwts he's been tending in the Forbidden Forest."

"Perfect," Harry agreed, relieved she wasn't insisting on volunteering for the job. "Big and magical, and no one will miss them but Hagrid."

* * *

Breaking the news after breakfast about Tom Riddle's plan didn't go over well at the Manor. Harry sat back in his chair in the dining room and let the noise wash over him. He knew how they felt.

"My family – they're going to kill my family!"

"We've got to rescue them!"

"We've got to stop _him_!"

"Tell Percy what they're doing. He wouldn't countenance that!" Molly's shriek pierced the pandemonium.

"Percy wouldn't believe us!" Ron's voice, equally loud, stopped that line of argument cold. Percy wouldn't believe anyone from an organization outside the authority of the Ministry of Magic.

Mad-Eye Moody's peg leg stomped on the floor as the man hefted himself to his feet. "Quiet down, quiet down. Increased training between now and Harry's birthday." His magical eye rolled around to stare at Harry. "No excuses. Everyone attends every day. The twins have a few surprises tucked up their sleeves, and we'd best all learn how to use them."

Harry nodded his agreement. After finding _A Key to Hogwart's Hidden Secrets_, he'd have more time to train. He hoped, anyway. He had no doubt Mad-Eye would run him to exhaustion, which was all the better to keep him from worrying.

Pain exploded in his shin as something hard and pointy hit it. Harry jerked his head away from Mad-Eye and looked across the long table. Hermione stared at him, eyes wide and intent. She held a book protectively in one hand between her and the table, while she pointed at it with one finger. Harry had been around Hermione long enough to know she had something crucial to tell him. _Now?_ He mouthed at her.

She shook her head no. Harry nodded at her once, and Hermione relaxed. No doubt they'd discuss her findings after this meeting finished. She probably hadn't wanted him to begin training immediately.

At this rate, he'd be stuck in a chair all day long.

He returned his attention back to the group. Mad-Eye had sat down, but everyone still whispered to their neighbor in worried tones. Harry caught a few snatches.

"I can't fight if they'll kill my cousins!"

"Or my grandparents."

"What about my mum and dad at St. Mungos?"

Harry identified that last one as Neville's, and he straightened with surprise. He hadn't thought of Neville's parents. Was the ministry giving the hospital food to feed their patients? He couldn't imagine Tom sanctioning the use of such precious resources on what he no doubt thought was a waste.

Should they try to get food to St. Mungos? Everything they had to do flooded Harry's mind. He had to figure out how to block the _avada kedavra_ with a spell, something never successfully done before, even if Luna's mother had come close. They had to figure out a way to remove the horcrux from his blasted scar, access Gringotts and get rid of that horcrux, figure out a way to kill Tom, and then feed all of the magical world - as well as the muggle world - if possible.

Stress tightened into a hard knot that sat in his chest, constricting his breathing.

Next to Ginny, a few seats down from Hermione at the end of the table, stood Luna. Harry couldn't hear her since the noise in the dining room drowned her out. She tucked her blond hair behind her ears, tapped her throat with her wand, and began again. "EXCUSE ME, I KNOW EVERYONE IS TERRIBLY AFRAID, EVEN MAD-EYE. YOU CAN TELL BY HOW HIS EYE IS SPINNING SIDEWAYS...oh, you've all quieted down. Excellent. I've got a solution, at least part of one. So there's no need to be afraid. At least not _as_ afraid."

"What is it, dear?" Madame Pomfrey asked in the pregnant silence that followed.

"My mum, she was working on a way to keep a soul anchored inside a body. She'd created a spell opposite the killing curse. But it needs a bit of tweaking."

Exasperated huffs and derogatory whispers met this pronouncement, but Madame Pomfrey and Luna ignored them.

"Luna, how much success did your mother have?" Madame Pomfrey's eyes narrowed as she concentrated on the petite witch.

"She was able to protect kittens from _avada kedavra_, but I'm afraid that didn't work when she reflected the killing curse back on her. Did you know mirrors don't reduce the impact of the curse? But I think we can make it work with Harry's wand."

Silence reigned once again, as it often did when Luna spoke. Harry fought down the embarrassed flush in his cheeks by reminding himself how sad it must have been for Luna to watch her mother die that way years ago today, and the heat left his face.

As much as Harry had tried to keep the news about the strength of his new wand from spreading, there had been little hope of that. Nothing was private in the Manor, even without portraits to spread the word. At least there'd been no sign of traitors or _imperiused_ people yet, so Tom couldn't have word of his wand.

Madame Pomfrey leaned forward toward Luna. "Kittens, you say? I wish your mother had consulted with me. We could have modified the strength and power of her spell to suit humans..." She glanced around at all the faces staring at her. "What? I excelled in runes and arithmancy, I'll have you know. I planned to go into spell research before I became a nurse. Then the war came," she waved a hand as if waving away years of regret.

Relief flooded through Harry. Maybe he wouldn't be responsible for casting that spell on hundreds of people. If the spell failed, he'd wonder for the rest of his life if he could have done something, been somehow better, to save their lives.

"They might not use the killing curse," Augusta Longbottom pointed out while adjusting her vulture hat. "A bludgeoning spell would do the job. Or a cutting curse."

Harry heard someone gag, which set others off. He couldn't blame them. The thought of walking amongst defenseless people and slaughtering them turned his stomach, and he swallowed hard to keep down his breakfast of seaweed, fish, an orange slice, and a bite of egg. He'd relished that bite of egg, and he had no intention of experiencing it a second time as it came up again.

"I disagree." Madame Pomfrey tapped her fingers on the table while she thought. "All bodily functions are suspended once you take the draught of living death. Theoretically, death eaters could cut their heads off, and they would be fine if I reattached them before we revived them."

Harry heard someone throw up in earnest at that, and he frowned at the waste of food. As understandable as it was, they couldn't afford weak stomachs when every calorie counted.

"Fire," Mad-Eye said. "That wouldn't be reparable."

Madame Pomfrey nodded. "So we cast Luna's spell – modified of course – and a fire-proofing spell on their bodies. That may be all we can do for them."

"Which would be miraculous, in and of itself," Molly said, her eyes bright with excitement at the possibility.

"Not miraculous," Arthur contradicted. "Magical."

The tension flowed out of the room as everyone laughed and began talking

"All right then," Minerva stood up, but a strong voice interrupted her.

"If we're going to be casting spells on all these people," Ginny said, "Why don't we take their bodies with us and store them here? Wouldn't they be safer that way?"

"That would alert the ministry," George said, clapping an arm around his sister, who shrugged it off.

"And prompt an investigation," Fred added, leaning past his brother.

"Percy would be in a tizzy," George grinned at his brother.

They both nodded and turned to rest of the table. "Let's do it!"

Laughter ran through the room, and the twins sat back in their chairs with satisfied smiles.

"Before certain people get ahead of themselves," Augusta Longbottom cast a prim eye on the twins, "We have no place to put them; all of our space is devoted to growing crops. We're packed to the rafters as it is! If this house had rafters," she sniffed. "And I don't know how many more rooms we can carve out of the cliff and still manage to keep the Manor stable. Spells can only do so much to prop up tons of rock."

Remus Lupin leaned forward in his chair near the far end of the table and spoke into the silence. "We'd have to consider the logistics of the situation, as well. It would take hours for one person to transport hundreds of bodies. It seems unlikely we could accomplish that without bringing the entire Ministry down on our heads and ending our best opportunity to protect the sleepers."

"What if we reduce the number of sleepers, then?" Xenophelius Lovegood said, bouncing up and down in his seat with enthusiasm. "I've been tinkering with the old radio equipment here. I could turn it into a broadcast station to warn people!"

This time Minerva shook her head. "The ministry can track the source of such magic-based broadcasts, unfortunately, and exposing this location or the broadcasters to capture is unthinkable."

Xenophilius jabbed a triumphant finger in the air. "Not if we use a relay put in an inaccessible location!" Light reflected off his yellow-tinged teeth.

"And what location would be both inaccessible to the Ministry and uninhabited?" Minerva's clipped words told Harry she was exercising her patience.

"Why, Hogwarts, of course!" Xenophilius said, raising his eyebrows with surprise. He looked around. "All we have to do is get our relay within the boundaries. Surely our good wandmaker here can manage that. There's plenty of trees there!" He chuckled to himself, pleased with his solution.

Everyone turned to Ollivander.

"A tree not visible to the naked eye from the boundaries would be desirable," Ollivander said after a long pause for thought. "Else the ministry could summon the set - if it's possible for magic to pass through Hogwart's boundaries."

"A determined enough wizard might be able to do so," Minerva said, lips thin and tight. She'd remained vague about the details of the lockdown even with the inhabitants of the Manor.

Ollivander nodded. "A tree inside the building would do the job, if it hasn't died yet."

Professor Sprout cleared her throat, and everyone looked in her direction. "Most trees ought to be near dead by now, due to lack of air. But you may be able to use the rosewood tree in my office. It's the only one inside Hogwarts proper that I know of. I have a fondness for the flowers, you see, and I can get it to bloom several times a year indoors."

"Excellent." Minerva looked from Ollivander to Xenophilius. "We'll need that in place later today. If we broadcast on all channels just after the Ministry's announcement, we'll reach as many people as possible."

"Why not before?" Molly asked, her curly red hair bouncing with the force of her words. "If we predict the Ministry's moves, surely more will believe us!"

"Or," Kingsley countered, entering the fray, "if the Ministry cancels the plan before it goes public, our credibility will be damaged. And Tom Riddle would then take a different set of hostages, like those at St. Mungos."

Harry glanced at Neville. His fingers had tightened around the table's edge, white knuckles standing out against the dark wood. Neville's parents would be helpless.

"What are we going to do, then?" Ginny asked, "Cast spells on the bodies or bring them here?"

"Both," Mad-Eye's gravelly voice silenced the frantic whispers Ginny's question had produced. He turned on his peg leg to face Luna. "Your mother's spell – if it can be finished – could turn the tide of this war. Finish it! As for space, we'll use my trunk. It has several rooms, and I have an aversion to rattling around inside it after spending a year locked in it. I'd rather sleep in a hammock."

No one laughed at the reference to the time Moody spent captured by Barty Crouch Jr. during Harry's fourth year.

Minerva stood and rapped her cane on the floor to get their attention. "Mad-Eye, you're in charge of the mission to retrieve the sleepers as well as battle training. Luna, work with Madame Pomfrey and whomever else you need in order to finish your mother's spell. Xenophilius, we need your relay radio station ready to deposit at Hogwarts by noon-" she flipped her pocket watch open, "three hours from now."

Everyone stood up as the headmistress concluded the meeting. Harry caught Hermione's eye and gestured with his chin in the direction of the library. She nodded, and Harry fell in behind her and Ron to attend his second meeting of the morning. He pushed through the crowd of excited people, their cheeks rosy and eyes bright now that they'd been given assignments in the fight against Tom Riddle.

"Why's everyone so happy?" Ron bent his head close to Hermione to ask the question. "We just got some really bad news."

"That's not happiness, Ron," Hermione glanced up at him, one hand on her hip in exasperation, the other hand clutching her book close. A smile softened her response. "It's hope."

Harry had to admit his own step had an extra spring in it. He pushed past a few more groups, about to leave the room, but he stopped in place and listened to Neville's excited question.

"Luna, how exactly does your mum's spell work? I'd like modify and embed it in my seeds. If I substitute the value in the spell representing the killing curse for bugs and diseases – their life-threatening danger - our yield will skyrocket..."

Harry shook his head, smiled, and hurried after Ron and Hermione. The way Neville was going, he'd be breeding sentient plants in no time.

To be continued...


	51. Chapter 50

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

From the last chapter...

_ Harry had to admit his own step had an extra spring in it. He pushed past a few more groups, about to leave the room, but he stopped in place and listened to Neville's excited question._

_ "Luna, how exactly does your mum's spell work? I'd like modify and embed it in my seeds. If I substitute the value in the spell representing the killing curse for bugs and diseases – their life-threatening danger – our yield will skyrocket..."_

_ Harry shook his head, smiled, and hurried after Ron and Hermione. The way Neville was going, he'd be breeding sentient plants in no time. _

Chapter 50

Harry stared at empty silver plate laying on the library table in front of him and shifted his weight from side to side. They'd just wrapped up the war council meeting in the dining room, and he was tired of sitting. "Isn't that Sirius's family's crest?"

Hermione nodded, curls bouncing out of her loose bun. "It's goblin-wrought silver. We have to use it for the transference ritual."

Harry raised one eyebrow, unconsciously imitating Snape. "Ritual?"

Hermione sighed, and her feet tapped a rapid beat against the hardwood floor. "To get rid of your horcrux, of course. We'll practice on the locket, first."

"And Ravenclaw's diadem," Ron joined in. "We found it under a massive pile in the far corner of the room. I swear that thing was trying to wriggle away from us even then. What do you bet Tom put a curse on it to make it hide?"

"No bet from me," Harry smiled, full of relief they'd found the diadem. "The book must have pointed out its location faster than it could move."

"The spells on it weren't designed to hide it from a magical catalogue," Hermione said, eyes alight with interest. "I doubt Tom believed it existed. If he'd found it, he would have destroyed it, along with the books on horcrux making." She nodded toward a pile of dingy books near the edge of the table.

"They looked like the most boring books imaginable," Ron said, leaning back in his chair with a smile of satisfaction. "They were in the pile from the Chamber of Secrets. I wondered why books on cleaning charms ended up there."

"I thought they were quidditch strategy books." Hermione's eyebrows drew together, before her face smoothed out. "In any case, they couldn't fool us when we knew their exact location. I wish we had time to go through the whole book," She glanced at the next table over where she'd put _A Key to Hogwart's Hidden Secrets_.

Harry grinned. "There's always later."

Hermione's shoulders tightened and released, and she nodded. "Let's finish preparing for the transfer, then." She pulled a greyish-green book covered with patterned scales closer to her and flipped it open to a place she'd bookmarked. "The object receiving the soul piece needs to rest on something that will prevent contamination of the surrounding areas. We don't want grass, soil or dust to become little bits of horcrux, after all. We'd never destroy them all." She thought for a moment and added, "In this case, that would apply only to dust on the table. The magic keeps the soul-bit together till touches the correct object."

"So the silver plate provides a barrier?" Harry asked.

"Any metal, the more permanent the better. Goblin-wrought silver is near indestructible, which is why I chose it. For a temporary transfer, dead wood is preferred."

"Dead wood?" Ron asked, leaning forward to look over Hermione's shoulder.

"As compared to live wood still attached to a tree," Hermione's dry response caused Harry to snort, and he turned it into a cough to avoid offending his best friend.

From Ron's wry glance, Harry's attempt had been less than effective, The corners of Harry's mouth turned up of their own accord.

"It's a good thing we gathered up Sirius's stuff before Mundungus filched the silver," Harry changed the subject.

Hermione glanced between the two before nodding in agreement. She pulled the grey-green book close to her. "I think we ought to practice the transfer spell as soon as possible. Harry's birthday isn't far away, after all. Right now, in fact."

Harry's eyes widened in mock surprise, and he looked around in all directions. "Now? With no adult around? That sounds like a plan I'd come up with."

Ron guffawed, and he made no attempt to cover his laughter. "He has a point," he said, still grinning. "Perhaps we'd better check your imperious clock." He stood and ambled toward the library door, casting a glance over his shoulder to gauge Hermione's reaction.

She huffed in response, and shook her head, causing more curls to cascade out of her makeshift bun. With an impatient look, she pulled the ineffective quill out of the knot, and her locks spilled down around her shoulders. "I studied half the night. It's far more complicated to prepare one's soul to be split than it is to transfer it from one object to another." She gave a delicate shudder.

Harry thought he could see her skin turn a delicate shade of green when she mentioned her research, but he didn't ask. He had no desire to learn the gory details of how a horcrux was made. Just that they existed was an offense against nature.

If anyone were to be trusted with that information, though, it would be Hermione. On the other hand, if there was a way she could make herself part dryad, she'd probably do it in a heartbeat, judging by the envious looks she cast at the wandmaker when she thought no one was looking.

Harry didn't blame her. Classwork would have been much easier if he could remember everything he'd ever read on a tree-based product.

"I don't know," Harry finally said, looking at Ron for support. "I thought we were going to stop jumping into things."

Ron shrugged.

"You may be jumping into this, Harry, but I studied half the night." Hermione said.

She had a point. He could study for a month and get less done. "All right," Harry gave in. "It just seems like we'd need more advance work to destroy something like a horcrux."

Hermione pulled out her wand. "It's really quite simple, as long as we're transferring from one inanimate object to another. Your scar may be more difficult."

For some obscure reason, that made Harry feel better. "Let's try it, then. We might as well transfer and kill it all in one go. Where's the basilisk venom?"

Ron dangled a plain, muslin bag with a drawstring from one finger. "Right here. It's bloody difficult to handle the fangs without gashing myself. But I managed." He swung the bag around in a figure eight pattern.

Harry smiled at his friends antics.

"If you're done?" Hermione drew the question out till Ron stopped swinging the venomous fangs around. "All right, then. Harry, place the plate on the center of the table, and get rid of those books. No, don't drop them on the floor! What have I -" She stopped and huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Just be thankful Madame Pince isn't here to see you."

"This isn't her library," Ron said in defense of Harry.

Harry nodded his thanks at his friend. Hermione ranked abusing books somewhere below failing a course but above losing her life. "He's right. They say I own this place, you know," He flashed a grin at her.

Hermione's face softened, and she smiled back. "So I hear. " She fluttered her hands in front of her. "Even though I've studied this subject inside and out, I suppose I'm still nervous," she admitted.

"Who wouldn't be?" Harry asked. "It's like NEWTs, OWLs, and all our final exams rolled into one."

Hermione's face paled and took on a grey tinge. "Not helping, Harry."

"Sorry," Harry gave a sheepish laugh while Ron hid his smile behind a hand.

Hermione drew in several slow breaths and straightened her shoulders. "No matter," she looked down at the greyish-green book in front of her, reading the instructions again. "Ron, put the locket on the table, and the receiving object on the plate. Then stand back. Far back."

She took one long step back herself, and her face gained the familiar look of concentration Harry had seen hundreds of times throughout the years as Hermione prepared to attempt this spell for the first time.

Ron followed Hermione's instructions and placed a stone pygmy puff statue on the plate. Harry, remembering the many dead pygmy puffs transfigured by Hogwarts students into memorial statues, had only a second to wonder about the effect a transfigured object would have on the spell.

Then Hermione cast the spell, the same sickly green light of the killing curse emanating from her wand. "_Transfero animus secui ex hic ut illic,_" she jabbed her wand first at the diadem, and then at the stone pygmy puff.

Nothing happened.

Harry held his breath, afraid to do anything that might affect the outcome of the spell.

Hermione repeated the incantation once, twice then six times, the muscles in her neck growing tauter with each repetition. Upon the final try, the sickly green light coming from Hermione's wand sputtered and fizzled, coming to a halt.

Her eyes narrowed and her hair began to billow with the strength of the energy flowing through her, Hermione looked like one of the formidable mermaids Harry had encountered in the lake during his fourth year, minus the scales and greyish green skin.

"_Transfero animus secui ex hic ut illic_!" The words – said for the eighth time – had a hard edge, as if they were a sword sundering the bond between the original soul piece and horcrux.

A black miasma crackling with magical energy rose up out of the diadem. Hermione's wand moved in a slow arc toward the pygmy puff, but the black miasma didn't follow. Instead, it started drifting toward Harry.

He took an involuntary step back and his shoulders smashed into the bookcase behind him. Books tumbled to the floor around his feet.

Hermione moved in front of him, seemingly heedless of the danger. "_Ut illic_!_" _she commanded, anger roughening her normally smooth tones. She took slow steps toward the table, her wand nearly touching the evil piece of soul, and she pushed the black miasma back till it surrounded the pygmy puff.

Slowly, grudgingly, the black miasma sank into the statue.

"Thank Merlin!" Harry murmured, wiping sweat from his brow.

Hermione put out a cautioning hand, staring intently at the receiving horcrux, and Harry squinted. He could still see traces of the blackness. Was it drifting out the bottom of the pygmy puff into the plate beneath it?

As he watched, the trickle of blackness turned into a flood, and the goblin-wrought silver plate became wreathed with darkness for a split second before returning to normal.

"Was that -" Ron cleared his throat to hide his breaking voice, "Was that suppose to happen?"

Hermione shook her head, blood draining from her face. "The soul fragment fought me," She turned to look at Harry and Ron. "I had to say the spell eight times – eight! - before it worked." She shivered, although her liberal use of heating charms had rendered the library a warm oasis in the manor's damp coolness.

"And that means...?" Harry asked, a thick, doughy ball of dread squirming in his gut.

"His soul is in eight pieces. I know we've talked about that, but to have it confirmed!" She shivered again.

"But that's not what went wrong." This time Harry didn't ask. He knew.

"No," Hermione shook her head, her now bushy curls forming a halo around her. "The soul fragment wanted to reunite with the other piece in you, but I forced it into the statue," she nodded at the pygmy puff.

"But it didn't stay there." Ron finished.

"No," Hermione whispered, worry pinching her brow. "That wasn't suppose to happen." She flipped her book open and rifled through it with careless heed for the aged pages. "The metal is suppose to provide stability and ensure long-term absorption of the soul-fragment by the receiving object. I cast all the proper charms on it to ensure that earlier, I'm sure of it!"

"I'm sure you're right," Harry soothed. "No harm done. Sirius won't mind if we use a basilisk fang on his family's dinnerware. And the transfer worked! It's not in the locket anymore."

Hermione waved a hand at him, shooing him away. "Something going wrong meant _I _did something wrong, Harry. We can't trust the results!"

Ron pulled on a long, dragon-skin glove. "Don't worry so much. Just because you usually get a spell right on the first time doesn't mean the rest of us do. We still have Ravenclaw's diadem to practice on." He pulled a fang out of the muslin bag and smashed it against the sliver plate.

Venom oozed out, spreading onto the plate. Ron swished it around, tilting the plate right and left to encourage full coverage with his protected hand. The venom etched swirl patterns into the silver before sinking away out of sight.

Ron looked up. "Wasn't it suppose to bleed or something? Deafen us with its screams?"

"It looked like the plate sucked it up," Harry replied. "Tom's diary didn't do that. It bled ink."

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip, glancing from her book to the plate and back again. "Do you think Sirius's mum cast some sort of spell on her dinnerware?"

"That's a bit farfetched, but possible," Ron shrugged and grinned. "People only do that when they're trying to bait muggles."

"I don't think we destroyed the horcrux," Harry said, feeling rather foolish for stating the obvious.

"What are the other ways to destroy the things?" Ron asked, hefting the plate in one hand. "It feels heavier than it did before."

Hermione ignored his last comment, choosing instead to answer his question. "Fiendfyre and basilisk venom for inanimate objects. The killing curse also works on people and animals." She glanced at Harry and grimaced for a moment before looking away.

"Well, let's try fire, then." Ron raised his arm.

"Stop!" Hermione raised a warning hand. "Regular fire won't work, and fiendfyre is a dark, cursed sort of fire. Even the caster often can't control it. The whole Manor could burn down!"

"It's made of stone," Harry pointed out, wondering if his distressed friend wasn't thinking straight.

"And the plate is made of metal. Silver, to be precise. Which melts at high temperature but isn't destroyed," Hermione threw right back at him. "Fiendfyre can burn – totally destroy metal and even rock. Magical containment is required."

"Oh," Ron said, staring down at the gleaming plate. "Has that gotten shinier since we've been talking?"

Hermione peered closer. "I can't tell. It could be a trick of the lighting."

Ron shrugged.

"If basilisk venom works, why don't we try filling the plate up with it?" Harry asked, "Like filling a sponge."

Hermione turned to him. "Brilliant, Harry! That just might work. Maybe the soul fragment moved deeper than that amount of venom could penetrate. That might be why the surface is more reflective now." She moved to swipe an ungloved hand across the surface and then thought better of it.

"We haven't got an endless supply of fangs," Harry said. "But another one will do the job."

Ron reached into the muslin bag and pulled out a ten-inch long fang, one of the biggest they'd harvested. Without a word, he tightened his grip and plunged it into the plate.

Harry couldn't tell what happened. Had the tip of the fang disappeared into the plate? When Ron drew his hand back, allowing the silver to soak up the dripping venom, he could see a part of the fang was missing. No reciprocal hole had appeared in the plate.

All three friends leaned forward when the plate absorbed the last of the liquid, waiting on tenterhooks for something – anything to happen.

Nothing.

Hermione blew out her breath. "Perhaps we'd better get Bill to set up some containment for fiendfyre, then."

"Are you sure that plate won't just absorb it?" Ron asked, "You said goblin-wrought silver is almost indestructible. I'm willing to bet it could absorb that, too."

"I don't know, Ron," Hermione murmured, her lips pressed so tightly against each other they were white. "I just don't know. What if we made Tom immortal for truth this time? What if we can't destroy this plate?" She sniffed and dashed away a few tears with the back of her hand.

Harry swallowed hard. He should have listened to his gut - nothing about destroying a horcrux should seem easy.

To be continued...


	52. Chapter 51

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

From the last chapter:

_ "I don't know, Ron," Hermione murmured, her lips pressed so tightly against each other they were white. "I just don't know. What if we made Tom immortal for truth this time? What if we can't destroy this plate?" She sniffed and dashed away a few tears with the back of her hand._

_ Harry swallowed hard. He should have listened to his gut - nothing about destroying a horcrux should seem easy._

Chapter 51

Ron and Harry glanced at each other uneasily. Hermione paced back and forth, muttering under her breath. She checked her book, and then double-checked it. The previously cool and damp library felt dry and hot, a result of too many warming charms.

She set the book on the table next to the newly transferred horcrux and threw her hands up in the air. "We did everything right! It's like that plate sucked Tom's soul piece right out of the pygmy puff before it could become anchored. But that shouldn't have happened." She turned on her heel to face Harry and Ron.

Ron shook his fringe out of his eyes. "Er, Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"This reminds me an awful lot of polyjuice potion second year. You know...when you were a cat." He whispered the last words, and the muscles in his arms tensed, as if bracing for a storm.

"I do in fact remember spending weeks as a cat, Ronald."

Harry jumped in. "That time your potion was perfect, too. It was the hair that was the problem. Maybe this plate had some spell cast on it by the Black family!"

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip while she thought. "I didn't think to check for previous spell work. Even though the plate is made by goblins, galleons made by them don't have spells on them. I checked fifth year when I used them for the DA."

Ron edged toward the door, keeping a careful eye on Hermione. "I'll go get Bill, then, shall I? Breaking curses and other protective spells is his job after all. Or was."

"I'll need to take him with me to transfer the other horcrux," Harry said. "We might as well let him in on the secret early."

Hermione sat slumped in a nearby seat and waved Ron out the door with one hand. "What have I done?" She whispered.

Harry shrugged, uneasy. "Maybe something good. Who knows?"

Hermione cast him a wry look. "Since the goal is destroying the horcrux, I doubt it."

"There's always fiendfyre," Harry said. "Maybe we can set some sort of kiln up in the ocean with the horcrux inside. Surely the spell wouldn't burn through all that water!"

"It just might," Hermione's head rested against her folded arms on the table, muffling her words.

Harry couldn't say anything to dispute that. Fiendfyre was a magical, cursed fire. By casting it they just might evaporate all the water and kill all living things in the surrounding ocean area. Then he smiled at the thought. At least they wouldn't have to eat any more fish!

They waited in silence till Bill and Ron came back. They didn't have to turn any would-be researcher away from the library. Everyone was either helping Xenophilius or was off training with Mad-Eye. Training they'd all have to do later today.

Bill eyed the gleaming, shining plate standing on the table after the three had informed him of the morning's happenings. "You say it's goblin-wrought?"

Hermione nodded. "I remember Sirius saying something about that."

Bill let out a low whistle. "This must have cost a fortune. I wonder how old it is?" He circled the table, but didn't touch the plate.

"Why?" Hermione asked. "Is it designer wizarding dinnerware or something? It had to specially made, since the family crest is emblazoned on it."

Bill laughed. "No. Few people know this, but goblin-made items absorb things that make it stronger. Basilisk venom and horcruxes must do so." An involuntary shudder ran through him

Hermione groaned and put her head in her hands. "Harry was right! We should have pulled more people in on this. Now what can we do?"

"Hmm." Bill's dragonskin boots clicked on the floor while he walked and thought. "You say that horcruxes can only be killed by basilisk venom, fiendfyre, or destroying the container so it can't be used for its original purpose?"

The three friends nodded in unison.

"Fiendfyre requires powerful magic to contain it. Once let loose, it can burn stone unless protection charms are in place. Even then, those protection charms have to be heavily layered over a period of years to allow the magic to sink into the pores of the stones. That's why that curse has fallen into disuse. People too often incinerated themselves when casting it."

"That would put a damper on it," Harry said. "I guess it's a good thing we didn't try to cast it in the middle of the ocean to destroy that." He nodded his head at the plate.

Bill's eyes widened, and he gave a vigorous nod.

"Bill, you say goblin-made items absorb basilisk venom?" Ron's eyes were narrowed with thought.

"Yes."

"Wasn't Gryffindor's sword made by goblins?" He asked.

"Yes!" Hermione jumped into the conversation. "And Harry used it to kill the basilisk! I'm sure it got venom on it. With a fang breaking off in Harry's arm, the sword would have had to absorb some!"

"That just might be strong enough," Bill mused. "If we cut the plate in half, it couldn't be used as a plate anymore."

Harry's shoulder's slumped with relief for a moment. "And Professor McGonagall brought the sword here, no doubt. I'll go ask her for it."

He had to wait till the Headmistress finished another meeting, this time with Augusta Longbottom. Both had identical, pinched mouths when taking leave of one another.

"Yes, Mr. Potter?" Minerva's brusque, abrupt words caused Harry's eyebrows to rise with surprise. She gave a sigh. "I tell you this only because you are our host, no matter how young you may be, and you need to be informed of the happenings in your home."

Harry nodded, wisely biting his tongue to prevent a protest about how - at nearly seventeen - he was almost an adult. He wanted to know what she had to say.

"We have very little food left, I'm afraid. Even with the additional supplement you brought back this morning, we may be able to last only a week or two more before all we have left are fish and seaweed."

"And we're having to go farther out into the ocean to get enough of those," Harry finished. They'd stopped fishing in their indoor aquarium once they'd depleted the fish stock to the minimum needed for reproduction. "When do we harvest Neville's crops?"

"Not soon enough," she said, shifting her weight to lean on her cane. She looked every one of her years. "Two weeks, maybe. And most of that will have to go into growing more crops. Kingsley wants to give bushels of the seed to the British prime minister to help feed the muggles over winter."

"If we can do that for all the muggle governments..." hope rose in Harry's heart, expanding into a large bubble that made it hard to breath.

"Exactly. If we could put everyone on fishing detail, we'd quickly have enough to live off comfortably."

"But we can't because of Tom." Harry stated the obvious, running a hand through grubby hair. He winced and rubbed the grease off onto his robes, promising himself he was going to try washing it with that dish soap he'd found at his mother's childhood home last night.

When he looked up, he saw Professor McGonagall smiling with sympathy. He smiled back. Her pointed hat hid her hair, but he suspected it was as greasy as his. Too bad they couldn't harvest that! His mind jerked to a halt as he remembered all their talk of fishing. Harvesting grease – harvesting oil. Whale oil!

"Whales!" He blurted out. "Why don't we bring a whale in?"

Minerva moved the top of her cane in a steady circle while she considered the idea. "We'd need to send a party out. It would be too dangerous for one witch. Or wizard."

"Hermione could make an extra large bag to hold the body."

"Carcass, Mr. Potter. Carcass." The absentminded correction made Harry grin.

"Yes," he agreed, and then he drew a deep breath. He needed to get to the point of his visit. "I actually came to ask if I could use Gryffindor's sword for our research project." He widened his eyes a little at that to clue her into the fact it was for the horcruxes. Despite the fact the hallway looked empty, he didn't want to let word of that spill when somebody could walk around the corner at any moment.

Minerva gave him a long, appraising look. "That's not an artifact to be used lightly."

Harry shook his head vigorously. "No, ma'am. But we need it to fix a little mistake."

She raised her eyebrow. "Extra politeness is never a good sign from you, Harry Potter. May I presume something disastrous happened?"

Harry looked down and shuffled his feet, feeling like an errant schoolboy again. "Er, we may have made the new one indestructible on accident. That's what we need the sword for. It might be able to break the goblin-made silver plate."

She drew a sharp breath in. "I see. Follow me. I will retrieve it."

Harry trailed after her in silence. Her tent – a small, triangular thing made of canvas – was pitched at the end of a hallway near the old servants' quarters. Harry supposed she chose this area for the small amount of privacy it afforded, since only the plant caretakers came this way.

Harry cast a glance in the room nearest the tent while waiting for the headmistress to retrieve the sword. The magic-less potato plants were making slow progress; they were barely more than shoots at the moment.

"Here you are, Mr. Potter. I expect this back immediately once the object is destroyed. If a goblin-wrought sword can destroy a goblin-wrought plate." She held the sword out, the pommel laying in one palm, with the jewel-encrusted scabbard resting in the other.

"Of course." Harry picked up the heavy sword and retreated back down the hallway. He quickened his step, the curious glances from passersby in the busier hallways letting him know he was making a spectacle of himself once again. Well, that couldn't be helped.

He reached the library and paused for a moment to slow his breathing before opening the door.

Hermione's woeful expression brightened when she saw him and the sword. "Do you think you or Bill should do the honors?"

Harry looked at Bill, who shrugged. "I'll do it, then." Harry pulled the gleaming sword out of its scabbard and hefted it. He was surprised he'd been able to use the heavy sword at all when he was twelve. Amazing what having a massive basilisk chasing after him could do.

With one last glance at the lettering on the sword bearing Godric Gryffindor's name, Harry strode over to the table holding the silver plate, raised the sword over his head and swung down. The impact reverberated up Harry's arms, and he gritted his teeth at the jarring pain singing in his elbows and shoulders.

Then the sword bounced off, leaving not a mark on the plate, but blunting the previously sharp edge of the sword.

"Huh." Bill stepped in for a closer look at the damage. "Gobln-wrought metal shouldn't do that. Are you sure this is the Sword of Gryffindor?"

"McGonagall gave it to me," Harry answered. "And it looks like the one I used second year. Except for the scabbard. I didn't see that back then."

"Someone must have switched a well-made copy out for the original then," Bill's nose almost touched the sword. "This doesn't have a trace of goblin magic in it that I can sense."

Harry sat down hard in the seat nearest him. "Of course someone switched the sword out." He hoped the headmistress wouldn't blame the messenger when he reported back. She didn't usually, but the loss of a founder's magical heirloom might tempt even a saint.

"What do we do now?" Ron's long face made Harry feel even more gloomy.

Bill picked up the scabbard and re-sheathed the sword. "From what I reviewed of the spell, it was fairly straightforward. Besides using goblin-wrought silver, that is."

Ron coughed into his hand and mumbled, "Millicent's cat hair."

Hermione rounded on Ron. "You would have thought that bit of hair was hers, too, I'll have you know. Who would have thought she had a cat with the same length _and _color of hair as her?"

Bill intervened. "That would seem unlikely," he agreed. "But in this case, what you didn't know is that goblin-wrought metal imbibes anything that strengthens it. Basilisk venom, for example." He jerked his chin at the spent fangs lying on the floor, a movement that highlighted the raised scars on his cheek.

"It came close do doing something, though. Look at the etched patterns the venom made," Ron said.

"And if you'll notice," Bill smiled, "Those lines are becoming less noticeable as we speak."

Ron leaned forward for a closer look. "Wicked!"

"That explains why the plate absorbed the soul fragment so easily," Hermione said, "But not why the statue didn't hold the absorbed piece to begin with." She wrung her hands together.

Bill pulled on the dragon-skin glove and picked up the pygmy puff. "Why did you choose this as the receptacle?"

A line appeared between Hermione's eyebrows. "It was sitting near the diadem we found this morning and I was impressed with its level of detail."

Harry gave one sharp laugh, and everyone turned to look at him. "I'm sorry, it's just of all the things Hermione could have chosen, it would have to be that."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, but waited for him to continue.

"Well, I've spent weeks sorting through that stuff. I've been testing every object for transfiguration spells while he sorted through the junk," Harry gestured at Ron. "I'd be willing to bet the World Cup snitch that the statue is actually a pygmy puff transfigured just after it died. It seems to have been all the rage at one point. I've found dozens of the nasty blighters."

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "Ew. That's taking things a little too far." Her eyes shifted from right to left, as if she were reading a book from memory. "But that would explain why the soul-fragment wouldn't inhabit it! Soul-fragments search for stability, you see. Stone and metal are preferred since they last nearly forever if they're not interfered with. A dead body, on the other hand, decomposes rapidly. Within months, the fragment would dissipate. No wonder I had such trouble getting it in the pygmy puff."

"What's next?" Harry stretched and linked his hands behind his head, relieved that they'd figured out where they'd gone wrong.

"I'll select different items for Ravenclaw's diadem and Hufflepuff's cup," Hermione said. "This time we'll make sure they're as normal as can be."

"Why don't you get it from a muggle's house?" Ron said. "I bet the prime minister has a bunch of stuff he'd let you use, all of it top drawer."

"Brilliant, Ron!" Hermione beamed. "We'd still have to check it, of course, but that way we can be sure of no magical contamination."

Her eyes shown brightly while a small smile curved her lips, and the tips of Ron's ears blushed red.

"But what about the plate?" Harry asked, his humor at the byplay between his friends draining away at the thought of the indestructible new horcrux. "If we can't use basilisk venom or the killing curse, can we use fiendfyre? Surely there's someone here who can control it."

"Albus Dumbledore could, I wager. " Bill replied, shaking his head. "But there's no guarantee the plate wouldn't soak up the fire and the magic behind it anyway. The goblins use fires far hotter. Their magic is that of the earth, and their fires burn as hot as the liquid stone deep beneath us."

"There has to be a way! What can we do?" Hermione's slumped shoulders told Harry she must still be castigating herself for her mistake.

Possible making an evil madman immortal for all time could have that effect, Harry acknowledged to himself.

When Bill answered, no smile graced his face. "The only thing we can. Get the goblins to unmake the plate. If we can."

"If we can?" Harry echoed.

Bill nodded. "Unmaking a masterpiece is the greatest of heresies to the goblins. How we will persuade them, I have no idea."

To be continued...


	53. Chapter 52

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling:

From the last chapter:

_ "There has to be a way! What can we do?" Hermione's slumped shoulders told Harry she must still be castigating herself for her mistake._

_ Possible making an evil madman immortal for all time could have that effect, Harry acknowledged to himself._

_ When Bill answered, no smile graced his face. "The only thing we can. Get the goblins to unmake the plate. If we can."_

_ "If we can?" Harry echoed._

_ Bill nodded. "Unmaking a masterpiece is the greatest of heresies to the goblins. How we will persuade them, I have no idea."_

Chapter 52

Arthur Weasley mopped at his brow with his robe's sweat-soaked sleeve, and he wondered if he could use _impervious_ to prevent sweat from dripping into his eyes. Blurred vision could cause death on a battlefield as easily as _avada kedavra._ Of course, it would be helpful if his muscles weren't so woefully out of shape. He was certain everyone in Mad-Eye's practice room could hear his pounding heart and whistling breath.

Only a few more hours till lunch; he hoped he'd last that long. Mad-Eye had stepped up training since finding out this morning Tom Riddle had an unknown surprise for Harry's birthday.

Arthur ducked a red stunner spell and leaped to the right to avoid another one, making sure to turn his shoulder into the roll to come up on his feet. Mad-Eye was determined to drill basic dueling skills into both their heads and bodies. Arthur cast his own stunner at the moving target keyed to him, missing it by a hair. "Blast!" he muttered.

Even the children had better accuracy than he did. At this rate, he'd be assigned remedial accuracy practice with John, summoning slugs, bugs, and other pests out of the soil in the dozens of grow rooms. Still, Arthur had to admit the accuracy practice had obviously worked. Judging by the gruff look of satisfaction on Mad-Eye's face when he looked at John's charges, the trainer was glad that at least some people hit their targets. Even if they were children that shouldn't go into battle.

"Arthur!" A voice broke into his musings, and he glanced to his left toward the doorway. Ollivander stood there, his eyes widening and a hand raised too late in warning.

Arthur whipped his head back toward Mad-Eye. Too late. The red glow of a stunner filled his vision. He had only enough time to sigh inwardly as he threw himself to the ground before darkness took him.

* * *

The aching throb in Arthur's head was the first thing he noticed as he swam into consciousness. Familiar with the effects of one too many stunners and _enervates_, he groaned and turned on his side, pulling himself into a sitting position. After watching the children pop up time and again, he had to get up; he had his pride to consider. He'd never hear the end of it from Fred and George if they heard a few stunners laid their father out flat.

With one hand strategically placed to block out the bright light – the peaceful kind from the goblin's wand, since Mad-Eye wanted them used to fighting with its effects – Arthur looked up into Mad-Eye's grinning face. "I know," Arthur groaned, "Constant vigilance!"

He pushed himself to his feet.

"I'll teach it to you yet!" Mad-Eye promised.

Arthur waved a hand at his old friend, shooing him away. Mopping his brow again, he struggled to walk with a smooth stride behind the practicing students and adults. His muscles had tightened up in the short time he'd been out on the ground. Keeping a careful eye out for stray spells, Arthur greeted the wandmaker.

"I'm terribly sorry about that, Arthur," Ollivander apologized.

Arthur suspected that while the wandmaker was sincere, he'd also found the scene amusing, judging by the laugh lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes. Arthur heaved a another sigh. "I'm getting too old for this," he gestured toward the madness and mayhem before them.

"If you say so," Ollivander said, the corners of his mouth tipping upward before the wandmaker sternly disciplined them.

"Out of shape and out of practice, I know," Arthur said instead of challenging the older man to enter the training. No doubt the much older man would come out of the exercise with stellar marks, never breaking a sweat.

Ollivander nodded and got to the point. "I need to discuss an important item of business with you and Remus. Would now be an acceptable time?"

Arthur cast a glance back at Mad-Eye, the magical eye swirling around the room before settling on Arthur. He shrugged back at his trainer, and followed Ollivander out the door.

"What do you need, Wendell?" Arthur asked once he'd closed the door behind him.

"Harry had an...interesting idea last night that we put into effect. Would you be willing to assist Remus with it?

Smoothing a hand over his balding hair gave Arthur a bit of time to think. He guessed Wendell was sparse on the details because Harry's idea wasn't for public consumption, even in the Manor. "It will assist in the war, I'm assuming?"

Ollivander nodded.

Arthur gestured for the wandmaker to lead the way, and he fell in behind him as they walked through multiple halls and up several staircases. Mad-Eye had carved out his practice room deep under the cliff, and the walk to any other public destination was considerable. Arthur estimated that Potter Manor had more than doubled in size since they'd arrived. His muscles still ached upon remembering endless hours of blasting and clearing out the resulting rubble. He'd used magic, yes, but it had still been arduous work.

A grey tent pitched at the end of the hall near the library seemed to be Ollivander's destination. The many slash marks – stitched up laboriously by hand – told Arthur that this tent must be Remus's. Magic couldn't heal damage from werewolf claws, and the weary man climbing out of the tent had been assigned by Dumbledore to join a whole pack of them.

Arthur shuddered to think of how Remus survived each full moon with bloodthirsty werewolves. The damage to the tent had been collateral, he was sure.

Remus ushered them in, and as Arthur passed by him and slipped into the tent, he wasn't sure if his grey pallor was due to the reflection of the light off the tent or whether Remus had had a shock.

The tent was as worn on the inside as on the outside. Shabby, banged up furniture greeted Arthur's eyes in this small tent that held few rooms. From his position near the doorway, he could see a kitchen, a bedroom, and the sitting room just inside the tent flap.

Arthur sat gingerly on the edge of the threadbare cushion of the small couch, concerned that if he sat his whole weight on it the springs below might give out or come out. A lone table in the corner held several reams of parchment and a quick quotes quill, currently inactive.

"Writing your memoirs, Remus?" Arthur asked with a laugh.

"I almost wish I was," Remus rubbed his face with a hand. "The tales of a reformed werewolf are mild in comparison to that."

Arthur cocked his head to the side, sending a questioning glance at Ollivander.

"This is Harry's idea," Ollivander explained. "We placed a listening stone, similar to Kingsley's buttons, in the Minister of Magic's office. One way only."

Arthur knew his mouth had dropped open, but he didn't care. "How?" he finally spoke.

"There's a tree in the office," Ollivander gave him a serene smile. "We don't have to completely exit one to place something at its base."

"Wicked," Arthur eyed the table in the corner with admiration. "So you need someone to sort through the conversations?"

"Someone with a reasonable head on his shoulders. Someone...discreet." Ollivander said.

Remus nodded silently and handed a sheaf of papers to Arthur.

As he rifled through the papers, he caught snippets of conversations. Progress reports on food procurement, official ministry business, pompous interviews with Daily Prophet reporters. One particular bit caught his eye and sent his heart plummeting. "What does he want with magical babies?"

"One magical baby," Remus corrected, then shook his head. "I don't know. He doesn't seem to be seeking a particular one – just the youngest one with the most magic."

"That can't be good," Arthur murmured. "Could they find the Manor that way? The ministry records all magical births, but do they include current locations as well?"

"No," Remus took the papers back and found a particular spot. "That seems to be part of the problem. The ministry's filing is so disorganized, they can't find half the records they're looking for. And the records have anti-accio charms on them to prevent easy theft."

"Bureaucracy is finally working in our favor," Arthur smiled wryly. "About time."

"But they've found the muggleborn registry, unfortunately," Remus's brow creased.

"He's said nothing of his plans for the babe?" Arthur asked, visions of human sacrifice swirling around in his mind. "Didn't the Aztec wizards slaughter innocents for magical purposes?"

Ollivander answered. "Little is known about those practices – certainly nothing that survived in written form." The hard glint in his eyes suggested he felt the Aztec's offense against decency personally.

"We'll just have to keep watch, then. I don't think we have enough information to act on," Arthur said, nodding to himself. "Did he mention a time he needs the child by?"

"One week from now. It must have something to do with Tom's birthday surprise for Harry," Remus straightened the pile of parchments in his hand. "But before you go through the rest of the conversations, we need to fill you in on some important information. The full moon is tonight and I'll be...incapacitated."

Ollivander took up when Remus paused. "The following information must be kept confidential. The success of this war hinges upon it."

Arthur swallowed hard when he saw the serious look on both mens' faces. He nodded his agreement, and the wandmaker continued.

"We don't want you caught by surprise tonight when you discover the extent of Severus Snape's role. You see, the children created a loyalty clock for him..."

* * *

Minerva McGonagall tapped her wine glass – filled with water – at lunch. When the sound didn't carry to the far reaches of the dining room, she placed a sound magnifying charm on the glass and tried again.

Heads turned toward her and the chatter ceased. She nodded and rose to her sore feet – she'd been standing nearly the whole morning while dealing with the minutiae of running Potter Manor.

"Thank you," she began. "I have excellent news from Mad-Eye about the children's spell accuracy." Her children from Hogwarts beamed, pleased with the compliment from the gruff old man.

"But I have unfortunate news as well," she said, one hand tightening around her walking cane. "Despite our many efforts to build a food supply, our reserves will be gone within the next week to ten days."

The room silenced completely, and their wide eyes and worried faces pierced Minerva's heart. Children shouldn't have to wonder where their next meal will come from. "We should be able – for the near future – to gather an adequate amount of seaweed and fish. "

Despite that good news, a ripple of groans ran through the room.

"I think I'll puke if I have to eat any more fish," a muttered voice reached Minerva, but she couldn't tell from whence it came. She turned a stern eye on Ron Weasley and his brothers, as they seemed the most likely to commit that most inopportune interruption.

Wide, innocent eyes met her. She huffed to herself. That meant nothing coming from them.

Still, they had a point. The elderly and the young tended to experience food fatigue first. They just wouldn't eat the food placed in front of them, despite the fact they were starving. John warned her that would happen soon. Perhaps they could eke out their supply of canned food by giving the teenagers and younger adults a straight diet from the sea for the next little while. That would help.

She stood erect, looking out over the pinched and worried faces. "Since the food situation affects all of us, I would like to put several options before you."

Grim silence met her.

"The first suggestion by Mr. Potter here was to send out a team to retrieve a whale for us. That would provide us whale meat, blubber, oil, and a supply of skin and bones that may be useful for other things."

"You can't slaughter a beautiful, majestic whale!" Claxton Proudfoot's young wife shouted this. Lustrous blonde hair cascaded down around her shoulders in numerous, intricate braids.

Minerva sighed. She couldn't remember the young lady's name, but the girl was known for her strong desires to protect animals of all sorts. More than a slight inconvenience when they were relying on them for food.

"Mrs. Proudfoot," Minerva said, "You are welcome to not partake of any meat or fat from the whale, but I will not condemn your fellows or your children to starvation simply to satisfy your high morals on this point."

"We don't need to slaughter innocent whales," Mrs. Proudfoot protested again, her face red. "We can eat Neville's crops! What are we doing all this work for if we're not going to eat them?"

_That's not how I would have wished this point brought up. _Minerva made sure her face stayed impassive. It wouldn't do to show the girl the disadvantage her inopportune question would cast on the next part of the discussion.

"Excellent question," Minerva tilted her head at the young wife. She swung her gaze out over the audience, and the glum trio in the corner caught her eye. In an unusual turn of events, even Hermione wasn't paying attention; instead she pushed a blob around her plate with a fork. Minerva guessed things had gone badly with the Sword of Gryffindor earlier this morning, and her mouth tightened of its own accord. "If everyone could pay attention...?"

Hermione straightened up at Minerva's arch tone.

"We have two options. The first one, the safe one, is to eat the majority of food produced from Neville's seed. That will tide us over till our normal crops produce." Minerva stopped as spontaneous cheers rose into the air.

She waited till she had their full attention once again. "The second option would be to give the majority of this first crop of seed away," she held her hand out to stop the chorus of protests. "Please listen to me. We are an insular community here, but not long ago we lived in the magical and the muggle world. You have friends – family even – still out there. Neville's seed could make the difference in whether they survive this winter. Can we in good conscience not offer that aid? If they plant quickly and the frosts hold off, they might reap two or more harvests before winter comes."

People shifted in their seat and looked at each other. Minerva hated putting this choice before them, but she didn't feel as if she had a right to make it for them. "We still have the draught of living death, and the seaweed, fish, and hopefully whale meat as our major source of calories."

"And soap made from the whale fat!" someone shouted, breaking the tension.

Minerva smiled. "We'll all laud the enterprising individual who manages that, as the soap we just collected won't last long. But the larger issue remains. Let us put the issue to a vote. Everyone who wishes to use the bulk of Neville's seed for our own food, please raise your hand."

Minerva's throat tightened when she saw that not one hand waved in the air, not even Mrs. Proudfoot's, and she could hardly choke out the next words. "Those who would share Neville's miraculous, magical seed with our fellowman, please raise your hand."

A sea of hands met her gaze, and she sniffed as quietly as she could. "I've taught many of you here, and I have to admit I've never been more proud. Thank you."

Broad smiles met her statement, although the eyes of the many parents in the audience remained worried. "Those of you who feel draught of living death would be an acceptable option for you or your family for the next few months – beginning now or in a few weeks – please speak to me of this personal matter after lunch in my tent."

She sat down and prepared to face her fish and seaweed. She used her knife and fork to carefully separate the meat into perfect bite sizes, delaying the moment she had to put that hated fish in her mouth. Perhaps she'd eat the greens first, even though they were rather bitter these days. At least the rose petals, adding a dash of color to the salad, were an oasis of mildness in the midst of the bitterness. She raised her teacup to her lips and sipped. Unsweetened rose hip tea, lukewarm, spread over her tongue.

"Professor McGonagall?"

Minerva looked up from her plate. Ginevra Weasley stood in front of her, hands clasped behind her back. Minerva knew the young women had resented her stint in the kitchen, but the girl had her mother's talent at stretching food. They couldn't afford to put her anywhere else, although it wasted her brilliant mind.

"Yes, Miss Weasley?"

"I've been experimenting with a spell I found in the library here. The book was so dusty I must have sneezed - " Ginevra cut herself off when she saw Minerva's stern glance, the one perfected throughout the years to stop rambling students. "I mean, I think it will solve the diet problem. At least getting people to eat that slop." Ginny looked down at Minerva's plate and the green blob of cooked seaweed.

"Has it been tested?" Minerva restrained a sigh. She had dozens of excited witches and wizards each day bringing their new pet project before her for approval. Most of those had been crackpot ideas, although she appreciated their desire to improve the cramped, crowded situation with unvarying food.

At that question, Ginevra smiled. A pleased, shy smile. "Yes, ma'am. It doesn't change the content of the food – just the flavor. Your lunch will taste much better. May I?" She pulled her wand out, waiting for the headmistress's assent.

"Go ahead, then." She made a waving motion with her hand. Anything that masked the fishy taste would be marvelous. She couldn't count the times she'd sat at her family's dinner table for hours as a young girl because she refused to eat what had become their daily fare here at the manor. The amount of willpower it took for her not to complain, to set a good example, had been enormous.

"_Verto sapor_," Ginevra chanted, tapping Minerva's plate with her wand. A magenta light crept out, creeping across the plate before sinking into the food.

Minerva prodded at a bite of fish. "Transform the taste? To what?"

"That's the difficult part," Ginevra admitted. "That part of the spell is nonverbal. It took me ages to get one particular taste perfect." She was clearly not going to mention the taste she'd selected.

"If this is similar to your bat bogey hex," Minerva warned, bringing the fork laden with fish to her mouth.

"I'd never!" Ginny shook her head, then stopped. "Well, not with this. Or with you." Her smile turned impish.

Minerva closed her eyes and chewed, the flavor of mashed potatoes covered with rich beef gravy exploding on her tongue. She inhaled, surprised, and almost choked. "Excellent!" She said, giving the young woman a rare, approving smile. "The texture remains the same, but the flavor!" She took another bite and savored it for a time before standing and tapping her wine glass once again.

"Attention, please. Attention!" The chatter, not as loud as usual, subsided. "Our young Ginevra Weasley here will be casting a spell on each of your plates. Please allow her to do so. As a reward for her discovery and hard work, she will receive the last orange from our crop."

At that, an excited buzz ran through the crowded group of people struggling to eat. Minerva's keen eye noticed several young children crying and refusing to eat. _At least that problem will be taken care of. _

She sat down and heaped a bite of seaweed onto her fork and devoured it, enjoying the vibrant flavor of meat and potatoes. As she finished scraping the last bit of food from her plate, she saw Ginevra reach Ron, Harry, and Hermione.

Ginevra tapped each plate in succession, casting her spell. Minerva enjoyed the older children's wide eyes when they tried their first bite, although she rather wished Ron would learn to keep his mouth closed while he chewed.

Then Harry barreled out of his chair, wrapped Ginevra in a bear hug, and twirled her around. "I could kiss you, Ginny!" He announced in a loud voice, and then he did just that, planting a loud, juicy one on her cheek.

Ginny laughed, the look of delight on her face visibly even across the room. He hugged her again before sitting down and scooping large forkfuls of food into his mouth, one hand still wrapped in hers.

Finished with lunch, Minerva placed her napkin on the table, stood up, and left the dining room. She made sure to keep her face solemn as befit a leader in difficult times, but her heart warmed from the happiness she saw and heard from this group who had so valiantly voted to share their food with others, allowing so many more to live.

To be continued...


	54. Chapter 53

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

From the last chapter:

_ Finished with lunch, Minerva placed her napkin on the table, stood up, and left the dining room. She made sure to keep her face solemn as befit a leader in difficult times, but her heart warmed from the happiness she saw and heard from this group who had so valiantly voted to share their food with others, allowing so many more to live._

Chapter 53

Minerva adjusted the glasses on her nose as she read her pocket watch. Just after one. She snapped the lid shut and went in search of Xenophilius Lovegood. She'd asked him in their meeting this morning to have his radio relay equipment ready after lunch.

She stepped out of her empty tent. She'd had surprisingly few families sign up for the draught of living death. If things didn't go too badly for the Order around Harry's birthday, she was going to recommend at least half of the Manor's occupants partake of the draught. Tom Riddle would need some time to plan his next round of hideous strategies, time in which the Order wouldn't need its full complement of people.

Her mouth pulled down as she remembered the report from Remus and Arthur. Babies. What did that madman want with babies? Magic ran strong but untamed in little children. How else could they grow up with relatively few mishaps? One much talked about incident came to mind, where Neville bounced on his head when his Uncle dropped him out the second-story window. With relatives like that, no wonder the poor boy had so little confidence.

She shook her head and focused on the present. Perhaps Tom had discovered a way to tap into a child's magic, to add it to his own. Minerva had her own suspicions about why the purebloods bore so many squibs. Her stomach turned at the thought of anyone robbing a child of his or her birthright in magic.

Personally, she doubted Arthur's theory about physically sacrificing babies to release their magical power in one burst. Even Tom's pureblood death eaters would surely revolt at such a depraved act.

Her boots clicked against the hallway's polished stone surface as she searched for the party in charge of the radios. She'd half expected to find Arthur tinkering there with Xenophilius, but she had to admit he was an excellent candidate to analyze the information flowing through the eavesdropping stone in Remus's tent. While Ollivander gave the credit for that to Harry, she thought the older wizard played a large role than he was admitting to.

Minerva checked the library, only to find it empty for once. Hermione must be taking her turn under Mad-Eye's rough tutelage. Then, shaking her head at her own foolishness, Minerva turned on her heel and headed for the entrance to Potter Manor. Xenophilius was no doubt tinkering away in his castle rook perched on the edge of the cliff, not in some carved out room in the Manor. Minerva hoped that eyesore wouldn't become visible for quite some time. The last thing they needed was to attract the locals' attention.

She let her cane take the majority of her weight while she ascended the stairs inside the illusory boulder hiding the ornate trapdoor into the Manor. Tapping her head once with her wand and muttering the disillusionment charm, Minerva stepped into the bright sunlight for the first time since she'd helped Potter retrieve his aunt's home.

The brief memory of Harry's aunt house caused her to close her eyes in pain. Even she'd heard the shouting from that house – hidden deep in the manor – this morning. Thankfully the house elves had taken over their maintenance. Minerva didn't think anyone would volunteer to have abuse like that heaped on them in exchange for the honor of delivering their food, water, and casting an _evanesco_ on their waste.

While wishing she had time to enjoy the soft salty breeze against her cheek and the ripple of her cloak against her body, she walked toward the newly placed boulder – as high as her knee – marking the Lovegood's doorway.

Rap! Rap!

Minerva lowered her cane from the still invisible doorway and waited. Presently, she heard feet pounding down a staircase, and a vertical crack marred the blue sky and rolling ocean in front of her. One eye peered out and then squinted.

"I presume someone is standing on my front porch?"

Minerva sighed. Xenophilius's security was atrocious. "Since you didn't come to me after lunch, Xenophilius, I came to you."

The door opened further when the man stepped back in surprise and fumbled with a chain leading into one of his pockets. Before he managed to consult his own watch, he said, "Lunch already. My, my. Do come in, we're almost ready."

"We?" Minerva canceled her disillusionment charm and raised one eyebrow as Xenophilius shut the door behind her.

"Arthur would have been my first choice, you understand," Xenophilius said. "But Mad-Eye took him from me. The nerve of that man! As if training was more important than completing this radio in time!"

Minerva tapped her foot impatiently, hoping the bushy, white-haired man in front of her would catch the hint.

"Ah, yes." Xenophilius looked down. "You may want to have that checked out by Madame Pomfrey. Wrackspurts can cause muscle spasms, you know."

Minerva stilled her foot. She should have known where Luna got her more eccentric habits. "You were saying?"

A new voice thankfully entered the rapidly degenerating conversation, shouted down from the floor above. "Xenophilius is trying to explain that I have a passing acquaintance with all things radio." John poked his head down the stairs just far enough to allow him to meet Minerva's gaze. "I've done the rewiring, while Xenophilius here has added the necessary charms. All that needs to be done is attach the covers."

Minerva nodded her head in acknowledgment. "I'd like you to take Kingsley with you for extra protection, Xenophilius. Wendell tells me that you'll have only as long as you can hold your breath to set the equipment up. Will that be a problem?"

Xenophilius shook his head vigorously. "I'd love to chat with him. I'm sure he doesn't know how many innocent men the aurors have locked away in that wretched prison. Is it true that our journey through the tree root system will take hours?"

The glee on his face caused a flicker of sympathy for Kingsley to run through Minerva. "Actually, you'll be apparating with Hagrid near the edge of the forbidden forest near his blast-ended screwts. He's consented to pick a few of them up for Luna's testing. Then Ollivander will take you and Kingsley through the root system into Hogwarts. Between Hagrid and Kingsley, there shouldn't be any problem with rogue beasts, magical or ministry-appointed."

Minerva didn't say she suspected the old wandmaker could cast spells with the best of them. It never hurt to have extra protection, and they couldn't afford to lose Ollivander. He'd been surprisingly useful. Her mouth watered as she remembered the last orange she'd eaten, courtesy of Ollivander's skills.

Xenophilius's face fell. "Ah. Well, I'm sure we'll have more time later."

"You'll meet the rest of your party in the apparition room in half an hour. Will that be enough time for you to finish?"

Nodding, Xenophilius turned away and began muttering to himself, "We'll have to turn the on button into an activation switch for the entire system, magical and muggle..."

Minerva smiled and let herself out the door. Eccentric or not, Xenophilius would help them warn others of Tom Riddle's plan to use as hostages those who flocked to the ministry for safety after they took the draught of living death.

* * *

Kingsley forced his body to stillness while he waited for the tardy inventor in the apparition room of the Manor. As important as this mission was, he had too many things to do to waste his time like this.

"How's things going with the prime minister?" Hagrid looked over Ollivander's head to ask Kingsley the question.

"Not well.," Kingsley replied. "We've kept in touch with the government in the military bunker, but he really needs to be in on the ground to enforce his decisions."

Hagrid nodded. "Some people are getting too big for their britches, eh?"

"You could say that." Amusement at Hagrid's portrayal deepened Kingsley's smooth voice. He doubted the generals and high government officials would appreciate the implication they wore anything so uncouth as britches.

In actual fact, that was exactly what was happening. If Kingsley wasn't certain Tom Riddle would mount an attack on that bunker soon, he'd take the prime minister back. But the target was too tempting, the food they were growing too much of a necessity for Riddle's continued reign, to ignore for long. Even if the crops they were currently growing would never feed the massive flood of refugees pouring in.

Faint nausea filled him as he remembered the prime minister's arguments with his government officials. He wanted to allow all refugees in. He knew of Neville's seeds, and the boon they would prove. But he couldn't tell his aides that. They wanted to refuse all refugees – to turn them away to die. The muggles around the bunker were close to starving as it was.

Kingsley hoped Neville's wheat would indeed ripen soon, proving it had a growing cycle of a less than a month. If the muggles planted all of the wheat as soon as they delivered it – as early as the beginning of August, then they should get two crops grown, the second much larger than the first. Perhaps even a third. Neville wasn't sure if the magic the wheat drew on would help protect the plants from frosts.

Only time would tell.

As it was, the prime minister was having a dickens of a time getting the military to use precious gas to plow fields they didn't have seed for yet.

The trap door above the stairs in the apparition room flew open, and an excited voice floated down. "So sorry we're late. We had a few last minute adjustments to make to ensure we could turn the equipment on without dying!" The jovial voice ended in a chuckle.

Kingsley repressed a sigh as Xenophilius came down the stairs, followed by John Granger, who wasn't repressing a smile.

"Good luck!" John said as he passed through the room. "I've got some remedial targeting lessons waiting for me to teach."

"The chickens will like that," Hagrid grinned.

"Indeed." Ollivander stepped forward and joined the conversation. "Are you two familiar with the trees inside the Forbidden Forest by the quidditch pitch?"

They smiled at his question. They'd all retrieved quaffles from the edge of the forest, even those who hadn't played on house teams.

Ollivander nodded and popped away, and the rest followed suit.

Kingsley showed up near the edge of the forest, with his companions scattered along the length of the quidditch field. He raised his wand and began scanning the forest for enemies – animal or human. He walked on the balls of his feet, avoiding fallen branches and the grasping fingers of bushes.

Xenophilius, unfortunately, was unfamiliar with the finer points of stealth. Or even the basic points. He crashed through the forest, heedless of the danger he put his fellows in. Abandoning his careful movements in favor of the need to be closer to protect his charges, he rushed to joined Ollivander and Xenophilius, noting several blasts and balls of fire off in the distance.

He sniffed the air as wind blew a hint of woodsmoke in their direction. It was a miracle Hagrid's pets hadn't set the entire forest on fire yet. Perhaps it would be best if Luna's spell didn't work at first. Kingsley wouldn't be sorry to see the last of this breed.

"Aw, have you come to greet Mummy?" Hagrid boomed. "I knew you recognized me. Now don't you spew fire in my direction! Barmy little screwt!"

Kingsley shook his head and took Ollivander's proffered hand, as did Xenophilius. Neither of them had traveled this way before, and Kingsley was grateful his the trip through the ethereal whiteness was short.

Xenophilius, predictably, burbled with delight the entire way, questioning the wandmaker about the unusual method of travel.

"I'm afraid the ability is hereditary," Ollivander finally said. "A peculiar talent that none of my children, nieces, or nephews received."

That didn't seem to bother Xenophilius, who leaned forward and almost lost his grip on Ollivander's hand. "But what can be done once can be duplicated, I'm a firm believer in that. For example, have you ever experimented with a chain of people in here, with you at the head?"

Before he finished that question, the enthusiastic inventor swung through the mist, grabbed Kingsley's arm, and let go of the wandmaker's hand, all in one smooth motion.

Ollivander's mouth dropped open in shock while he reached out and tried to grasp the erstwhile man without success.

Kingsley held his breath, adrenaline shooting through him like lightning, the sound of his pounding heart bellowing in his ears. How long would it take for the man to expand, resuming his normal size? Would destroying the root they traveled in kill both him and Ollivander as well?

"See, my good fellows! It works!" Xenophilius beamed, as if he were entirely oblivious to the life-threatening danger he'd put the other two in. _Mess with just your own life, why don't you?_ Kingsley grumbled to himself, wishing he had an arm or hand free to wipe the sweat popping up on his brow away.

"Mr. Lovegood," Ollivander said, fury hardening his tone into ice, "If I cannot trust you to follow the proper protocols, then you may not travel this way. I've half a mind to leave you behind in Hogwarts itself for that unbelievable stunt!"

"It was incredible, wasn't it?" Xenophilius asked, ignoring the threat. "Just think of what we can do with this! We can transport everyone in the Manor this way. Wouldn't Tom be surprised at that? If I were him, I'd activate the moratorium on apparition. The Ministry can do that, you know."

Silence reigned amongst the three men and Kingsley took several moments to digest that astonishing statement. Kingsley hadn't heard of such a thing, and he was a senior auror. "Where did you learn that?" If this was on par with his theories about Stubby Boardman...

Xenophilius's eyes widened, as if he were surprised at such a question. "The Lovegood Chronicles, of course. Very reliable, I assure you. My ancestors had absolutely no imagination - very staid and boring." He wrinkled his nose. "I can't tell you the number of times I've fallen asleep trying to find a nugget of gold amidst the dross. The Ministry enacted the ban for a short time centuries ago during some crisis, not long after the wizard council became the Ministry of Magic. Their charter almost got revoked over the incident, so no minister since then has dared do it."

Kingsley thought about that. It was almost plausible, in a scary sort of way, and part of him wanted to laugh hysterically. Taking the man in front of him seriously seemed at odds with the known laws of the universe. Still, his sense of professionalism rescued him, and he didn't let the barest hint of smile bleed through his serious facade. "Do you think Tom Riddle will discover this ability? Or Perhaps the ministry got rid of this ability long ago?"

Xenophilius's look turned sly. "Oh no, my good man. The minister of magic is always informed upon swearing in. My sixth great-grandfather was Minister of Magic, you know. He wrote it all down."

A treasonous act, no doubt, but one that aided them now. If Kingsley remembered correctly, Xenophilius's ancestor had only held the office for a few short months before being run out by popular demand. Perhaps recording information privy to only the minister was one of the ways he took his revenge for that humiliation.

"It does make a certain amount of sense," Ollivander agreed. "They can track apparition via registered wands, since the wand identifies the user. Instead of being required to use anti-apparition charms all over Britain, they could instead have some magical apparatus in place that instantly identifies a disturbance in the magical ether caused by apparition. Each attempt to apparate would first register in the ministry and would then be stopped automatically. Much more energy efficient."

"Magical ether?" Kingsley asked. He'd never heard the obscure, arcane term before.

"The magical substance spread about in every bit of the world," Ollivander explained. "It's an old theory, but an apt one here. A disturbance in the ether could theoretically be identified and responded to immediately. Magically, of course." He smiled. "I may have come across an old book that discussed the theory a long time ago."

"Then we can guarantee once Tom's death eaters arrive at their specified place, all apparition will be cut off in an attack." Kingsley repressed a horrified shudder. He could imagine squads of death eaters attacking innocent families – slaughtering them when they couldn't apparate their family away. The floo network would be shut down as well, of course.

For once, Xenophilius was serious. "True, true. But all we have to do is find out in advance where they'll be. Then Ollivander here can hold us in reserve, inside the trees in one long chain. Just like he is right now." He gestured around at the mist that had stopped moving. They must have arrived at the one tree inside Hogwarts proper.

"The tree is still alive?" Kingsley turned toward the wandmaker.

"With a bit of help," the wandmaker's teeth gritted, and his pallor contained a tinge of grey.

"You'd best hurry, Xenophilius," Kingsley said. "If you need a breath of air, grab my hand and stick your head in."

Xenophilius nodded and pulled one of Hermione's beaded bags out of his pocket. "Have you seen how this bag slurps things up?" he grinned while plunging one hand deep into the bag. It latched tightly around his wrist, but Xenophilius ignored that and pulled the first radio transfer station out. "Brilliant. That girl is absolutely brilliant!"

Kingsley leaned forward and placed his eye against the bark once Xenophilius passed through, as Ollivander had instructed him earlier. If Xenophilius passed out, he'd jump out and drag him back into the tree with Ollivander's help. He didn't think about how dragging the portly man in front of him with one hand would wrench his shoulder. Hopefully the man would have enough sense to stick his head back in the tree. It was unfortunate a spell like mobilicorpuscouldn't cross the barrier.

Xenophilius grabbed Kingsley's outstretched hand sticking through the bark. "Two... transfer...stations...down," he gasped. "Four...more...to go."

That was one of Xenophilius's better ideas. In case the ministry tried to track the source of the incoming transfer beam, the extra sets would provide enough broadband noise and confusion to make that impossible. Hopefully.

Xenophilius took two more trips, coming in the last time with a parcel wrapped in brown paper. He explained after he caught his breath. "Some books Madame Sprout ordered; an owl delivered them just before the lockdown. She said she ordered them to help with Neville's research."

"Good work, Xenophilius," Ollivander drifted down, pulling Kingsley and then Xenophilius down after him. "But please, no experimenting this time. You took years off my life with your last one."

"Of course, I'm terribly sorry. My wife always did say I was rather impulsive," the inventor apologized.

The short trip to the edge of the Forbidden Forest passed by in silence. When they exited the large, moss-strewn tree, Kingsley nodded at his friends and apparated to the Prime Minister of Britain's home. He had some completely muggle items to pick up.

To be continued...


	55. Chapter 54

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

From the last chapter:

_ "Good work, Xenophilius," Ollivander drifted down, pulling Kingsley and then Xenophilius down after him. "But please, no experimenting this time. You took years off my life with your last one."_

_ "Of course, I'm terribly sorry. My wife always did say I was rather impulsive," the inventor apologized._

_ The short trip to the edge of the Forbidden Forest passed by in silence. When they exited the large, moss-strewn tree, Kingsley nodded at his friends and apparated to the Prime Minister of Britain's home. He had some completely muggle items to pick up._

Chapter 54

Harry threw himself into the empty wooden chair next to Hermione's in the library. He clamped his teeth down on an involuntary groan when the hard planes of the chair found bruises and sore muscles he hadn't known were there. "Do you think Mad-Eye will kill us before the week's out?" The words came out in a gasp.

Hermione stretched and then grimaced. "Three days of brutal practices. If he doesn't kill us, no one can."

Ron lifted his head off the table from where it had thunked earlier. "I just want to know why Fred and George get out of half the practices."

"If you say it's not fair one more time..." Hermione's eyes narrowed in warning.

"Well, it's not." Ron grumbled, staring at the brown wood a few inches from his eyes.

Harry placed a hand over Hermione's arm, stopping her from pulling her wand. "We agree with you, Ron. But it hardly helps to keep going on about it."

"Besides," Hermione said, a wistful sigh escaping her as she looked at the hand preventing her from hexing her friend into next week. "They're still working on new weapons. If you have any brilliant ideas along those lines, I'm sure you'd get out of practice, too."

Ron sat up straight. "You think?" he grinned. "Let's see. Maybe we can create a moving force field. A shield, like John was talking about. Or maybe that light saber thingy. A permanent stunner attached to a stick!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Make-believe," she reminded him. "Star Wars and Star Trek never happened."

Ron set his jaw. "That doesn't mean we can't do it with magic!" He stood and started looking at the bookshelves. "What books would help me, do you think?"

Hermione sent a pleading look at Harry, but he just grinned back. Anything was better than a complaining Ron. If books kept him busy...

Hermione let her breath out in a puff. "You'd do better to help Ginny invent new flavors for our food. I don't know anyone else as...involved with their food as you."

"You think so?" Ron stopped scanning books and turned around. "Taste-testing all those new spells..." He closed his eyes for a moment. Then a look of consternation crossed his face and they popped back open. "That wouldn't get me out of practice, though."

"Maybe you shouldn't want to get out of practice," Hermione said. "He's doing it to save our lives and all. And don't you want to be an auror? This can't be worse than training for that!"

Ron froze for a moment, and Harry could read his friend's indecision in his subsequent, jerky movements.

"Ron, studying? Has the world fallen in?" Bill's loud voice rang through the library. "We'd better check his imperious clock!"

"Funny, funny," Ron grumbled. He eyed the bookshelf one last time before sitting down, crossing his arms over his chest. "You're late."

Bill shrugged. "I had stuff to do. I've been helping Neville refine the runes he uses to embed magic in seed. We need to somehow get the ripe plant to stay around long enough to be harvested, or to harvest itself. Picking wheat grains out of the dirt may work for us, but it's impractical for muggles. "

"But anything you do causes a decrease in yield," Hermione said. "Since the available magic gets pulled away from making seed into reinforcing the plant past its prime or into transporting the seed into the desired container."

"I see you've been working with Neville, too," Bill sent an approving smile Hermione's way.

Ron's ears turned pink when Hermione blushed at the compliment.

"We didn't make much progress, I'm afraid," she replied, tucking some wayward curls behind her ear.

"That's only because you weren't aware of some ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs that can serve double-duty as runes..."

Harry tuned the rest of their conversation out. The technical aspects of runes bored him silly. Instead he eyed Ravenclaw's diadem sitting on the table in front of him. For a moment, he imagined the silver prongs designed to secure the jewelry into the wearer's hair actually sank into the skull, like jewel-encrusted thorns.

He gave a small shiver, then looked around to see if anyone noticed. No one had. Ron looked like he'd gone back to complaining to himself, while Bill and Hermione were deep in conversation. Harry looked back and forth between his friends, trying to put his finger on what was odd about the situation. It really wasn't normal for Ron to complain this much, and it was rather odd his best friend wasn't insanely jealous of his older brother at this point.

Harry knew Ron fancied Hermione. So why was he stuck on practice instead of Bill, who looked to be poaching on his brother's territory? And why was Bill doing that when he was engaged to Fleur? He leaned over and punched Ron in the shoulder to get his attention.

Ron's head jerked up, and he looked around wildly. Then he shook his head as if to clear it and looked at Harry.

Harry tilted his head in Hermione and Bill's direction. The two were leaning close to each other, so close there was hardly a centimeter between them. As Ron watched, his face turned pink, then red.

Surprised to see no actual steam bursting out of Ron's ears, Harry cleared his throat, hoping to interrupt the madness and mayhem about to ensue, judging by the white knuckles clenched around his wand.

No one noticed. Harry cleared his throat again, loudly. Then the other three jumped, and a look of confusion crossed Hermione's and Bill's faces. They both scooted back in their seats, and Hermione adjusted her hair. She didn't look at Ron, but Harry did.

Their best friend seemed to be battling a multitude of emotions. Rage, confusion, self-pity. Harry recognized that last one. It had been particularly strong the past few days whenever they'd been away from practice. Except for at meal times, but Ron did love his food. Once Ginny changed the flavors, anyway.

They'd spent their spare time since Monday studying the goblin-made silver plate and Ravenclaw's diadem in the library, and Ron hadn't let up on the self-pity since then. By Wednesday evening, it was getting rather tiresome.

Huh. Harry looked at Ron, then at Hermione and Bill. Those two had been getting rather cozy these past few days in the library as well, which didn't really make sense. He knew Hermione fancied Ron. At least he thought so.

Harry tried to redirect their attention back to the important issue at hand. "Maybe it would be best if we transferred the horcrux and destroyed it now? We've got to do it sometime, else we'll never get to the goblins and Hufflepuff's cup before my birthday."

Ron's hand unclenched when he looked at Harry. He flicked a glance in the direction of the diadem, and his eyes unfocused for a moment. "What I want to find out is who's watching the imperious clocks. Bill's not acting normal!"

"Now wait a minute-" Bill protested, but Hermione overrode him.

"What utter nonsense, Ronald. The headmistress herself keeps track of the watches; they're in her tent. And the only person we've found under _imperious_ has been Mundungus, and that was from the last war. Apparently everyone found his efforts at disrupting society normal, so he was never checked."

"Mundungus Fletcher?" Harry asked, diverted. "The thief?"

"That's why no one noticed he'd been cursed," Hermione said, eyes alive with interest, Bill forgotten at her side. "Tom's plan was brilliant, really. I expect his death eaters cursed a lot of the magical lower class, with orders to make things harder for magical society."

Harry leaned back in his chair. "That makes sense. Mundungus would have stolen Slytherin's locket from Grimmuald Place if we hadn't caught him. And he was just making matters worse when he was hawking filched food in Diagon Alley earlier this summer."

Hermione nodded. "Death by a thousand cuts. If the death eaters placed more disreputable folks like him under the curseduring the first war, Tom might have been able to collapse magical society with no one the wiser."

A dark look of suspicion twisted Ron's face. "I can't believe no one else at the Manor has been found under _imperious_."

"It's hardly surprising," Bill said, sounding more like Percy than his easy-going self. "If you bothered to think about it Ron, you'd realize that members of the Manor are gathering food in deserted areas, while the death eaters are raiding the muggle populations."

Ron opened his mouth to protest, but what he said was lost when Bill held up a hand to stop him. "People from the Manor – in forests. Bad guys – in cities. No _imperious _curses cast. Is that simple enough for you?"

"Whoa," Harry said, taken aback at the sarcasm in Bill's voice. He hurried on, hoping to head off Ron's imminent explosion. Again. He didn't know his friend could turn the same shade as a furious Vernon Dursley. "Aren't any of you noticing something odd, here?"

The color in Ron's face turned a lighter shade of red, and he flexed his clenched fists once, and then twice. "What do you mean?" His voice was rough, as if it had been drawn out over sand paper.  
"First, we've done almost nothing with the horcruxes these last few days. Hermione, you and Bill are acting a bit...out of character with each other." He cast an apologetic smile at Hermione, whose mouth was falling open into a round 'o'. "And every time I try to get us moving on the diadem, someone brings up some fascinating topic that diverts us. Like the imperious clocks. Or how the radio campaign is going."

"How is the radio campaign -" Hermione began, but was stopped by a quick shake of Harry's head.

"See what I mean Hermione? Even you can't stay on topic when it comes to dealing with this thing." He nudged the diadem.

"If what you say is true," Bill carefully didn't look at Hermione sitting next to him, "Then why aren't you affected?"

Harry shrugged his shoulders, "I don't know. Why are you?"

Hermione looked down at her clasped hands in her lap. "Because your mother's protection spell has been strengthened, that's why you're not affected. Or maybe Snape's death spell has been reduced. I don't know which. But he's right." Her finger's tightened around each other. "We've tested the Prime Minister's objects backwards and forwards. Let's transfer the horcrux now."

"But-" Ron began.

"No buts, Ron!" Hermione said. "I'm having a hard enough time focusing on this as it is. "Bill, you do the transfer spell. You need to have it right before you get to Bellatrix's vault."

Bill scooted his chair away from Hermione's, the wooden legs scraping across the floor till he settled in place a good half yard away from her. "Sure thing."

Hermione covered a wince, but didn't say anything.

Harry was glad they'd come to their senses, at least temporarily. He didn't want Fleur to fly in here in a jealous rage. He'd seen Veela mascots attack their Leprechaun counterparts at the World Cup fourth year, and he didn't want to find out if Bill's fiance could turn into an angry, bird-like creature who launches fireballs from her hands. At the very least, his library would be destroyed. They'd never be able to console Hermione after the tragic loss.

Harry pulled out another silver plate, this one embossed with the Prime Minister's coat of arms. A shield in the middle surrounded on either side by a lion and a unicorn. "You're sure this is entirely muggle?" he asked. "No magic in it at all?"

"None detectable by any spell I know," Bill said with a a sigh, running one hand over his face. "We did at least establish that in the last two days. Two and a half days."

Harry pulled on Ron's dragon-skin glove and placed the diadem next to the plate in the middle of the table. Then he placed what would become the new horcrux on the plate – an ancient tome on medieval British law. Muggle law.

Stepping back, Harry examined the scene before him. The view was so reminiscent of their last attempt that he had to stomp on some misgivings. He wished Kingsley had been able to find a slab of steel or some other metal they could use. Even a bar of gold would have done the trick to provide the needed stability to ensure the horcrux stayed inside its new receptacle while they killed it. Using any silver plate left him uneasy now.

Unfortunately, the Prime Minister's family didn't leave such precious metals or common, plebeian things lying about, and they were stuck with this second silver plate.

"All right," Harry took five large steps back. "Hermione, do you have the other horcrux?"

She pulled it out of her bag and moved next to him. "Yes. Worst case scenario, if the blackness tries to make contact with you, it will be absorbed into the plate." She brandished it in front of him.

Harry smiled. "I have no doubt. Bill?"

"Ready." Bill nodded once, his jaw set, his feet a shoulder's length apart. "Repeat the spell eight times and demand with my magic that it enter the book. Got it." He nodded again, as if trying to make himself focus on the task at hand.

"_Transfero animus secui ex hic ut illic!" _he demanded, pointing his wand first at the diadem, and then at the book. On the eighth time, a groaning black mass exited the diadem, pausing in a roiling cloud.

Harry tensed, wondering if that cloud of evil would try to pursue him yet again.

It did. But Bill was ready for it, and he barked out the spell once more, menace showing in every tense, taut line of his body. The boiling black cloud obeyed Bill and slunk into the book, disappearing in dribs and drabs till only the book remained.

Bill wiped the sweat from his forehead and dried his wet palm on his pants. "Ron? It's your turn."

Ron shook his whole body, as if he were emerging from a stupor. "What? Oh. Of course." He pulled on the dragonskin glove, grabbed an unused basilisk fang, and plunged it into the book. His lips pulled back in a snarling grin as he destroyed part of the most evil dark lord in recorded history.

Piercing screams rent the air, and Harry slapped his hands over his ears to shut out the soul-deep pain. Ron punched and stabbed the book till dark ink pooled on the plate and ran onto the table in rivulets, staining the wood and then the floor below.

After the last scream died away and the silence grew thick enough to cut, Harry looked around. Hermione, Ron, and Bill were all blinking. Hermione and Bill glanced once at each other and then away, a slight pink tinging both their cheeks.

"That horcrux had some unusual defensive spells built into," Bill finally said.

"I don't know if they were additional spells put on it," Hermione said, still looking at the mangled book in front of them. "I think Tom's soul has a such an intense drive to survive that even a fragment of him seeks to live through any means possible."

"It was clever in how it got us to do absolutely nothing these last few days," Harry agreed.

"It was like I had a little voice whispering in my ear about how everything else – but it – was so much more interesting." Ron said. Then he brightened. "It's a good thing Tom mustn't have been interested in quidditch. Even Harry here wouldn't have been able to resist its allure if it suggested an indoor quidditch game!"

Everyone laughed at the idea of players on brooms hurtling through halls and weaving in and out of the trees in the mirror room.

"No doubt the snitch would hide underneath a blast-ended screwt." Harry suggested, setting off a new round of laughter.

"Those blighters would eat the snitch," Ron said. "But at least we'd have figured out what to feed them!"

"A quidditch game isn't such a bad idea, Ron," Bill said, still grinning. "We might even get Moody on our side if we persuaded him to use it as training."

"Excellent!" Harry punched a triumphant fist in the air, and then glanced around at the strange looks Bill and Ron were giving him. "What? I'd rather chance plowing into a wall than practice tumbling and avoiding all sorts of spells, wouldn't you?"

Ron saw the light. "Madame Pomfrey would have to take time to heal us then. Whoever heard of a nurse that was too busy to help her patients?"

"One busy trying to prevent your soul from being torn out of its body." Despite her defense of the absent nurse, Hermione smiled at their antics. "That's a titch more important, don't you think?"

Ron waved her comment away with a hand. "Didn't you once say being expelled was _worse _than death? In any case, this is quidditch."

Hermione huffed and grabbed the diadem and the Prime Minister's book. The boys plunged into a debate about how best to set up a quidditch game in the cramped Manor, and Harry almost missed it when she slipped out the library door a few minutes later.

"Don't forget we're going to Gringotts tomorrow!" He called after her.

She poked her head back in the doorway. "That's you and Bill – after you figure out what to trade the goblins in exchange for melting down that horrid plate. I'm going to help Luna. Maybe this diadem still has enough power to bestow wisdom upon its wearer."

"Just make sure the horcrux is all gone from that thing. The last thing we need is to create a spell twisted by that man's soul-fragment."

Hermione's eyes widened for a moment before she nodded. "When did you get to be so smart, Harry Potter?"

"When I woke up and decided to be like my friend, Hermione Granger. She's the smartest witch of the age, you know."

Hermione's cinnamon eyes danced with laughter. "Better late than never."

Harry smiled and returned his attention to the brewing quidditch debate. With Hermione's help, he had no doubt Luna's spell would be finished in time.

To be continued...


	56. Chapter 55

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

From the last chapter:

_ "Just make sure the horcrux is all gone from that thing. The last thing we need is to create a spell twisted by that man's soul-fragment." _

_ Hermione's eyes widened for a moment before she nodded. "When did you get to be so smart, Harry Potter?"_

_ "When I woke up and decided to be like my friend, Hermione Granger. She's the smartest witch of the age, you know."_

_ Hermione's cinnamon eyes danced with laughter. "Better late than never."_

_ Harry smiled and returned his attention to the brewing quidditch debate. With Hermione's help, he had no doubt Luna's spell would be finished in time._

Chapter 55

Harry grinned as he watched Ron close his eyes and place a piece of fish in his mouth as if it were a great delicacy.

"Mmmmm. Strawberries and cream. Now if only we could change the texture of the food, too..."

"Perhaps you'd like us to puree it like we do for babies?" Ginny's arch tone interrupted Ron's reverie, and his eyes popped open.

"That's not such a bad idea," he said, his mouth still full of food.

Hermione, directly across from him, rolled her eyes and looked down at her own food, pushing it around the plate with her fork before spearing a bit of dried seaweed and crunching down on it. "Excellent flavor, Ginny. Have you considered trying clotted cream? And I must say, I'd much rather have dried seaweed over cooked. This is almost like eating chips."

"What I wouldn't give for some potato chips," Harry agreed. He saw the gathering thundercloud on Ginny's face and quickly added, "But you've done wonders here. Miracles, Ginny. Look at all the little ones eating _and _laughing."

"Give a man a fish," Ginny grumbled, hiding a smile, "and then he'll demand the whole lake."

"Shoot for the stars and reach the moon," Ron agreed.

"Is that what all your complaining is for?" Hermione asked. "To get more out of your poor, long-suffering friends?"

Ron shrugged and grinned. "It works, sometimes."

"When it doesn't get you killed," Ginny glared at her brother, although her mouth struggling to twitch up into a smile ruined the effect.

"That is a drawback," Ron agreed, flailing his arms around, pantomiming death by bat bogeys.

They laughed and mopped up the last bit of food on their plates.

"It's been ages since you've eaten a meal with us, Ginny," Harry said. "Why did they let you escape from the kitchen this morning?" While he was interested, Harry was also trying to distract himself from his upcoming meeting with Bill. He had no idea how they were going to persuade the goblins to deal with the horcrux. Bill insisted doing so would count as a great heresy by the goblins. They'd have to figure out something to make it worth their while. If there was something that monumental.

Ginny turned her nose up into the air. "Researching you common plebeians." Then she grinned at them. "Maybe we'll make the dried seaweed taste like potato chips for lunch."

"That will be worth every second," Ron agreed fervently, standing. "I've got to get to training. Mad-Eye's letting us cast different spells today."

Gloom fell over Harry while he watched his departing friend's back. "I'd better go meet Bill. If I need a break, Hermione, where are you working on Luna's spell?"

"In the infirmary. Three floors down, near the end of the hallway. Such as it is. Fairly close to Mad-Eye's training, actually. Not that it does us any good," Hermione replied.

"Tell me about it," he heaved himself to his feet. "Ginny, will you do more research at lunch and dinner?"

She tried to smile, but it came out more as a grimace. A wistful one. "If I get all my work done. It takes a long time to perfect a new taste, and we've got scores of people to serve, and Mad-Eye's training."

"Try," Harry urged her. "We'll think of all sorts of food ideas for you to try out."

A genuine smile crossed her face. "You'd better!"

While Harry walked to the library and his meeting with Bill, he racked his brain for more ideas for Ginny. Hadn't he read some muggle book where they turned yeast into all sorts of different tasting foods? That might have been science fiction, but didn't people use soy for the same thing? He didn't know if they had any soy beans, but that might be something to look into.

Harry knew Molly was carefully hoarding her yeast supply from the hops he and Ollivander had gathered. Perhaps they could find something to feed the yeast that wouldn't require using up the last of the sugar. In this case, they really would be taking the candy from a baby, since all sugar-based food went to feed the fast-growing children.

Maybe Bill would have some ideas.

"How did your meeting go?" Hermione whispered.

They were both pressed into the corner of the makeshift infirmary, and rough-hewn stone dug into Harry's back. "We've decided to take the rest of Sirius's dinnerware – the whole set – in exchange for their help."

Hermione frowned. "You think that will work? Bill said goblins view that set as stolen, since the Blacks didn't return it after Lord Black died."

"Which Lord Black?" Harry asked.

"The one who bought the set to begin with. As it was hundreds of years ago, we don't precisely know unless we slog through boxes of records."

"It doesn't make sense they allow you to only rent what they make," Harry complained. His brain hurt from trying to wrap his mind around the way goblins thought. "They'd earn a king's ransom if each generation had to pay the same amount for the use of the plates."

"I'm not sure why, Harry." Hermione's eyes darted around the room, and Harry's followed hers. The blast-ended screwt took up most of the available space. Despite the fact it lay on the floor stunned, neither Harry or Hermione wanted to be close to it when the spell wore off. "Maybe you should ask them before you start negotiating."

"Yeah." Somehow, Harry didn't think that would help much. "I'll probably have to offer them the contents of my vault to pay the rental and late fees. I doubt I'll have a knut left to my name." He slid down the wall into a crouch.

Hermione folded herself down into a graceful, cross-legged position beside him. "I'll let you sleep on my couch," she said, smiling. "It's for a worthy cause, after all."

"Your parent's couch, if it's still there," Harry corrected. "And I just might need it. Bill said they might take Potter Manor as collateral."

"That's one steep fee."

"The fees have spawned fees, and they all have a high interest rate." Harry tried to shake off the sense of doom. If they lost the Manor and everything growing in it before they beat Tom, they might loose anyway. But they couldn't kill Tom till they got rid of that cursed goblin-wrought plate.

They stared in silence at the blast-ended screwt. Even unconscious, fire came out its rear end in little puffs.

"I think it has gas," Luna's airy voice interrupted their brooding. "Don't you?"

Harry covered a snort by coughing into his hand. "Er...I don't know. Maybe the fire is its way of signaling for a mate."

"Like the colorful plumage on a peacock. Fascinating." Luna walked closer to the screwt to examine the end emitting flame before coming back to the pair in the corner.

Since Madame Pomfrey was still in her corner desk going over runic calculations, Harry decided to ask Luna about their progress. "How's the spell going?" he whispered.

"What?" she whispered back. "The spell? Oh. We haven't killed any kittens yet, but we haven't managed to strengthen the runes behind the spell. Did you know all spells can be broken down into runic parts, and a change in the runes changes all sorts of things? Like which syllable to emphasize?"

Harry tried to focus on Luna, but he was sure his eyes had gone cross-eyed during that explanation. "Is it going well, then?"

Luna cast a glance back at the nurse, whose hair was mussed, as if she'd ran her hand through it one too many times. Hair pulled back in a bun wasn't meant to be messed with like that. Luna lowered her voice. "If only we could figure out the primary rune underlying the killing curse, then we might make some progress."

"If anyone knew that, it would be the Department of Mysteries," Hermione said, speculation sharpening her gaze.

Luna shook her head. "Not even them. Back then, creators of dark spells destroyed all their research. It made it harder to create counter curses, you see."

Hermione heaved a sigh. "We're stuck, then. That's why no one's figured out a counter-curse to the three unforgivables." Disappointment roughened her voice.

Luna nodded solemnly.

Just then, Harry felt a prickle in his scar, and surprise shot through him. He hadn't felt anything from it since Tom got the news about Dumbledore's death. Harry fought down a wave of loathing toward the evil man he was connected to.

He drew one finger along the scar, slowly, trying to soothe the inflamed skin. When Hermione cocked her head at him, her eyes flicking up to his forehead, he answered her unspoken question. "He's furious at something. The radios, perhaps."

Hermione smiled in sympathy, but then her smile froze. "It's about mid-morning, isn't it?" She rushed on without waiting for an answer. "Let's check with Arthur and Remus after lunch. Maybe we can correlate that with their notes."

Harry shrugged his shoulders. "Might be useful." He rubbed his scar harder.

"Let me see that, Mr. Potter."

Harry jerked his head up at the unexpected interruption, and he had to fight off a wave of dizziness. _That scar will be the death of me yet if I look up and can hardly see straight! _Madame Pomfrey's stern stare came into view, and he gave himself up to the inevitable exam.

Without a word, he trudged over to one of the two beds crowded into the corner opposite the nurse's desk. He might as well be examined in relative comfort. Besides gouging holes into his back, that rock was cold!

"Your scar is always red after these...incidents," Madame Pomfrey tsked as she moved his head from side to side to better examine his forehead. "Is that because you irritate it with that rubbing of yours, or is it like that to begin with?"

Harry swallowed his first response, which was that it wasn't any of her business. He glanced at his two friends still sitting on the floor, both pretending they weren't avidly interested in the proceedings. He throttled his desire for privacy, returned his attention to Madame Pomfrey, and answered. "It's pink for small things, like today, when it itches and prickles. That's why I rub it. When I see actual visions of him and lose consciousness, the scar often opens and bleeds. Like it's a fresh cut."

"Yes, yes. Albus always told me not to worry about that...Still..." Her eyebrows drew together in concentration while she held her wand over Harry's scar. "I'm getting traces of magic from this. Some old, some new. I wonder..." She trailed off, her eyes focused intently on Harry's scar.

Minutes ticked by, and Harry had to school his tense limbs to stillness. He wanted to do what he might have done fifth year, and stand up and shout, "You wonder what?" But even he could see Madame Pomfrey was deep in thought, and he didn't dare interrupt. The only thing keeping the people at this Manor alive were the epiphanies people had. Ginny's. The twins. Luna's mother's spell. Neville. Above all, Neville.

Harry cast a sidelong glance at Hermione and Luna. They were quiet, too, the silence of the room broken only by occasional bursts of fire from the unconscious screwt.

Finally, Madame Pomfrey spoke. "Did you know, Harry, that your scar is a reversed _sowilo_?"

Hermione gasped, and rushed closer. "You're right! An early Anglic version of the Elder Futhark alphabet. Oh, why didn't we ever see this?"

Harry looked from one woman to the other. "Because it's shaped like a lightning bolt, not a rune?"

"Nonsense." Madame Pomfrey waved away his objection. "A coincidence, at best, that the rune can be interpreted that way."

Harry opened his eyes wide at Hermione, pleading for an explanation from her. In English.

Hermione saw his look and smiled sheepishly. "I don't know why we didn't see it before. I bet the rune acts as a connector, or a channel between you and Tom. When enough magic flows through it, the skin becomes irritated, or even breaks open, as we've seen."

"Perfect!" Harry couldn't believe they couldn't see the delightful ramifications. "All we have to do is cut it out, and then we'll get rid of the horcrux. Right?" Just the chance of getting rid of the horcrux and his scar in one fell swoop made his blood pump faster in his veins.

Hermione's smile turned sympathetic. "Oh, Harry. I wish it were. But the rune is a magical manifestation. Cut it out, and a new one grows in its place."

Harry looked down at his hands and picked at the dirt crusted under his fingernails from remedial targeting practice with John. Failure was punished with gardening, since there were always more plants to add to their burgeoning collection of growing rooms. It was easier to focus on that than the heavy, leaden disappointment settling inside.

"What good is this if we can't use it?" Harry asked, struggling, and probably not succeeding, from keeping the sullen resentment out of his voice.

"You've been wearing the key to my mother's spell your whole life, Harry." Luna drifted toward them, a beatific smile lighting up her face. "A _sowilo_ rune stands for life force and health. The sun. A reversed rune like the one on your forehead, on the other hand..."

"Stands for death," Harry finished.

"It's the key to the _avada kedavra_ curse," Hermione clasped her hands in front of her and hugged them to her chest. "You technically can't reverse the _sowilo_, but it can lie in opposition. With a few more runes to stabilize it, you have the core of the spell."

"And when we know how those evil wizards built that spell, we can reverse it. Strengthen the life-force. Anchor it." Madame Pomfrey finished in a no-nonsense voice. All three women hurried over to her desk and began scribbling notes on parchment, the scratching quills joining with blasts from the screwt to create a cacophony of noise.

Perhaps cacophony was overstating the matter, Harry acknowledged to himself. That probably wasn't why the room had become stifling. He tried to prevent his mouth from turning down. He should be happy he'd helped them find the key to the soul-anchoring spell. Even if he hadn't meant to.

Carefully skirting around the screwt's cage, composed of a few woefully inadequate wires, Harry dodged a stray blast of fire. The screwt stirred, and struggled to get to its feet. _That wire better have repelling spells on it._

Harry darted out the door, narrowly missing Neville.

"What's wrong, Harry? You look like someone stole your pet snitch," Neville said.

So much for trying to look cheerful. Harry shrugged. He didn't want to talk about his ridiculous, dashed hopes to get rid of both the horcrux and his scar by plain old muggle surgery. Instead, he said, "Bill and I can't figure out what to trade the goblins."

"For what?"

"To melt down a goblin-made plate," Harry couldn't go into too much detail. "I'm not allowed to say much, well, nothing really, but we can't win the war till we get rid of it."

Neville's eyebrows climbed up almost into his hairline. "I see your problem."

They stood there in silence while Neville thought that through. "What have you thought of so far?"

"Returning the rest of the dinnerware set. Offering up my vault. The problem is they view the items they sell as _rented_ for the duration of the life of the buyer. And those plates have been in Sirius's family for generations!"

Neville winced. "I doubt even your vault would have enough to cover the fees."

Harry nodded, and his shoulders slumped. "They'd probably want the Manor, too. And everything in it."

Neville's eyes narrowed. "Everything in it, you say?"

"Maybe we could get your plants out. They wouldn't know about those, and I'm not telling."

"No, you wouldn't." The comment was absentminded.

Harry watched closely as Neville straightened to his full, lanky height and cleared his throat. "Have you thought of offering them some of my seed? We've given the goblins light to grow by. Why not seed to allow them to grow more, sooner and faster?"

Harry's mouth fell open. He hadn't considered it – the seed wasn't his to give, but that just might work. He leaned against the wall, relief coursing through him. "Neville, really? You'd let us do that?"

Neville grinned. "Why not? Maybe all those goblin rebellions happened because their crops failed. Blight happens, you know, even to magical folks. Think of the lives we could save."

Neville clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder and left to go ask Luna about their progress on the spell. He still wanted to adapt the soul-anchoring spell to repel pests and plant diseases of all kinds.

Harry stared after his friend. He didn't know anyone who would give his life's work away so freely. Even if Neville had only sixteen years under his belt. Almost seventeen, in less than a week.

To be continued...


	57. Chapter 56

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

From the last chapter:

_ Harry's mouth fell open. He hadn't considered it – the seed wasn't his to give, but that just might work. He leaned against the wall, relief coursing through him. "Neville, really? You'd let us do that?"_

_ Neville grinned. "Why not? Maybe all those goblin rebellions happened because their crops failed. Blight happens, you know, even to magical folks. Think of the lives we could save."_

_ Neville clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder and left to go ask Luna about their progress on the spell. He still wanted to adapt the soul-anchoring spell to repel pests and plant diseases of all kinds. _

_ Harry stared after his friend. He didn't know anyone who would give his life's work away so freely. Even if Neville had only sixteen years under his belt. Almost seventeen, in less than a week._

Chapter 56

"_Cave inimicum!"_

Harry turned to watch when he heard Kingsley's deep voice cast the final spell protecting their new quidditch pitch above the cliff. He scanned his surroundings. Lush green grass high as his knees rippled in the light breeze coming off the ocean. The early morning light cast a pink glow on the surroundings. Eager witches and wizards erected makeshift quidditch hoops from spare bits of rubble. They had piles not tossed in the ocean yet, and a liberal use of sticking charms made the sharp-edged stones stick together.

Harry himself was the secret keeper for the quidditch pitch, which also included the boulder hiding his home's entrance. He was pleased with Ron's idea to move the game to the top of the cliff– they'd have far fewer injuries playing outside this way.

As a bonus, the _fidelius _charm added another layer of protection to the Manor. The secret-keeping charm didn't work well with the ancient protection charms placed on the guest book and Manor. Having two sets of spells granting access to one place apparently created...unusual results. Harry was quite happy to be able to find his home each day.

But having the area above the cliff protected by_ fidelius_ – that was genius. Ron probably had lost hours of sleep trying to figure out a way to create a quidditch pitch without compromising anyone's safety.

"This isn't going to be a regular quidditch game," Mad-Eye announced, grabbing everyone's attention.

_Of course it wouldn't be_, Harry groaned. But then he brightened. _At least we'll be on brooms._

_ "_Fred and George have modified some communication charms. Genius. Pure genius." Moody's magical eye swiveled behind him in the twin's direction.

Fred stepped forward. Dozens of black cords with gleaming knuts hanging from them swung on his arm, the coins clinking when they ran into each other. "We've modified the _protean_ charm Hermione used two years ago to allow the DA to communicate," he began.

"It was a bit tricky to reverse the _muffliato _charm," George added, his chest puffing out with pride.

"But we managed," Fred confirmed. "And we connected it to the modified _protean _charm on the knuts here."

"And that all means what?" Ron asked, slipping a black cord off his brother's arm to examine the knut.

"Real-time communication in battle."

George's smug smile didn't bother Harry at all. While that could be an incredible advantage, a part of him wondered why such an invention didn't already exist.

"It's got to be more complicated than that," Harry said, voicing his thoughts. "Else wouldn't the aurors have it already? And what if you have to communicate and cast a spell at the same time? It hardly helps if the thing kills me because I can't get off a _protego_ in time."

"We're one step ahead of you," Fred winked at Harry, mirth bubbling out in a wide grin. "This requires a spell to activate and deactivate the system, but that's it. While it uses your magic to power it, it's a small drain."

"Hardly noticeable," George agreed. "And since we've embedded the communication charms _inside _ the knut itself, you can cast any spell you want at the same time."

Awe and excitement threaded the murmurs running around the group at that.

Excitement warred with doubt on Hermione's face. "Is the communication verbal or nonverbal? Advertising our plans to the Death Eaters..."

"We thought of that," both twins nodded vigorously, although it was George who spoke. "We thought about using code words and phrases for speaking out loud."

"But we concluded that wouldn't give us enough flexibility," Fred said. He looked at George, the two silently consulting with each other. Fred nodded and turned back to Hermione. "We added a wee bit of legilimency to the mix. Not the real thing. A potion that mimics the spell."

"Just enough to allow directed thought be transferred through the charm, no more." George hastened to assure them.

"That's why the knut has to touch your skin." Fred ran his hand across the sparkling coins. "I suggested we pierce our ears- "

"But Mad-Eye pointed out that dangly earrings can be ripped out."

Moody stepped forward, his peg leg sinking into the soft earth. "Earrings on every fighter would be an obvious target, and a torn ear would kill. Not directly, but you'd have to fight through the excruciating pain, and none of you – except Kingsley here – has enough experience to do that. Besides, you don't want to mess with blood loss."

Hermione gave a shudder at that.

Ginny, next to Harry, wrinkled her nose. "Ick."

"What I want to know is when we get to play quidditch," Ron said, pulling the black cord over his head and tucking it under his shirt.

"Now," Mad-Eye grinned.

The sight wasn't comforting.

Instead of the normal two bludgers, he tossed fourteen in the air, one for every person attending practice that morning. While they still had to find the snitch and score with the quaffle, the main task was to protect teammates from bludgers.

To add to the difficulty, the game also doubled as a meeting, to allow them to practice with the Weasleys' new invention. Minerva had declared they needed fresh air to think better, a fact Moody had jumped on with delight. The fourteen people here would test the Weasleys' communication charms, practice aerial maneuvers, and brainstorm all at once.

Mad-Eye was in heaven. With only six days left till Harry's birthday, time was running short on this Friday morning.

"Don't get killed. That's all he has to say?" Hermione grumbled as she mounted an old Comet 260.

"At least they told us how to activate the communication charm," Harry said, tapping his wand against the cool metal lying against chest. "_Initium_. I love easy spells."

Arthur, Minerva, and Remus whipped their heads around to look at Harry.

"Whoops... did I?" Harry ask. He stopped when he saw the headmistress put a hand to her forehead, as if in pain.

"Tone it down, please, Mr. Potter." The whispered words reverberated in Harry's head, drowning out the actual words.

Whoops, indeed.

Harry struggled to control the flow of blood rushing to his face. '_Sorry'. _He tried to think soft words. This was going to take some practice.

For a while, Harry and his team – Fred, George, Ron, Remus, Madame Pomfrey, and Luna were too busy dodging nightmarish bludgers. Harry's head rang from mental shouts as people twisted, soared, and stopped suddenly to avoid the nasty things. Harry was sure Mad-Eye had jinxed them to attack people more often. He and Remus had taken to covering each other's backs, blasting the bludgers out of the way while Harry's eyes searched for the tell-tale hint of gold in the air.

Harry was out of breath and tiring when a whistle pierced the air, and each bludger fell to the earth with a thud. Sweat streamed down Harry's face, and he wiped it on the sleeve of his robes. He'd been concentrating so hard on avoiding those indestructible menaces that he hadn't heard the heavy pants filling the air.

'_Two broken arms, three sprains, and too many bruises to count in one half hour.' _Mad-Eye listed off through the communication charm. The auror had mastered the blasted thing, but Harry guessed he'd had time to practice. Both he and the twins were adept at handling their thoughts with this. '_And you haven't even managed to even call the meeting to order_.' Undertones of disappointment flavored the thought.

And audible snort escaped Ron, and Harry winced at how the sound reverberated around in his mind.

'_We've done bloody well considering the bludgers have been jinxed to kill us!' _Ron modulated his mind-voice. They'd all learned to do that – bruises the size of bludgers taught fast.

Mad-Eye stumped close to Ron and glared. _'I rather think death eaters have a bit more brains than a bludger – and they want to kill you too. Let's begin again, and this time, I want you to exchange two levels of information. Situational awareness – where the bludgers are and what you're doing about it, and discuss strategy for this war we're in.'_

'_Couldn't we create separate networks? Teams? We can hardly sort out who's talking, let alone what they're saying and what to do about it.' _Remus Lupin's mind voice was controlled and modulated, just as his real one was.

'_Sorry, not in time for Harry's birthday – that's only six days away. These are prototypes as it is.' _Even the twin's mind voices sounded identical.

_ 'Get going, time's wasting,' _Mad-Eye let the bludgers loose again, and they all shot up into the air out of self-defense.

'_Consider this meeting opened,' _Minerva said, her mind-voice stressed and rushed. '_Do we have anything to discuss?' _A threat underlined the words, as if daring someone to bring up a topic. Apparently she wasn't too fond of meeting this way, fresh air or not.

Kingsley's deep mind-voice rumbled in Harry's head. '_I've heard from Tonks about the sleepers.' _

'_And_?' Minerva sighed with resignation. She jinked to the right on her broom, and the bludger behind her smashed into another circling in upon her. Unfortunately, that only stopped the bludgers in their tracks for a moment.

'_Several hundred people have applied for ministry protection, despite our warnings over the radio. They've located Hogwarts as the source of the broadcast, and Tom has __aurors working on ways to circumvent the ward, without success so far.' _Kingsley banged a bludger away from Hermione, who let out a squeak.

That was a restrained response considering her fear of heights, but her knut picked up on the mental sound behind it, and Harry winced as the audible squeak turned into an echoing shriek in his head.

No one spoke for a moment while Bill plunged down from the sky to make an attempt on the goal. Ron batted the quaffle away from the hoops, swerved around Luna, and bashed a bludger away from the oblivious girl, all in one smooth move.

_'Weasley is our king..._'

Harry didn't know the knuts could transfer the mental musical behind Ginny's whispered thought. He grinned down at her, squeezing his broom handle to accelerate past three bludgers coming at him from opposite directions. His grin stretched from ear to ear when he heard the loud whump as they ran into each other. These bludgers didn't seem to learn.

'_Kingsley,' _Minerva doggedly continued the meeting, _ 'my information corresponds with yours, with the addition that Tom is furious so few people have asked for the ministry's protection. Still, a few hundred...'_

_'I bet all of them read the Daily Prophet religiously,'_ Hermione said

_'And believe every word from that horrid rag,'_ Ginny agreed.

Luna interrupted. _'Did you know these hoops have plenty of holes perfect for swooper nests? Do you think they can get past the fidelius charm?'_

Her only answer was Ron's groan as he swung past her to distract the bludger barreling down on her.

_'On to the next item of business then, shall we?' _Exasperation colored the headmistress's tone before it changed to concern. _'Has anyone new ideas on what Tom wants with a child? I have a nagging feeling that babe is key to Tom's plan for Harry...'_

To be continued...


	58. Chapter 57

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

From the last chapter:

_On to the next item of business then, shall we?' _Exasperation colored the headmistress's tone before it changed to concern. _'Has anyone new ideas on what Tom wants with a child? I have a nagging feeling that babe is key to Tom's plan for Harry...'_

Chapter 57

A baby, key to Tom's plan? Harry looked in the headmistress' direction, and saw both of her hands let go of the broom to fix the trailing hair falling out of her bun. For some reason, he didn't think the tension on her face had anything to do with the current quidditch game high in the sky above Potter Manor.

'_I found nothing, not even in the Black Family books.' _Hermione reported.

_'Not surprising,'_ came Minerva's grim reply. _'Praise Merlin that taboo has been inviolable. Till Tom, anyway.'_

_'I still think...he's planning to perform some sort of sacrifice...in either a ritual or for the child's magic. Although he may using this as a new terror tactic...to cow the magical population. No doubt...he'll make sure the Daily Prophet...carries the story front page.' _Arthur's mind voice came in pants and huffs, just like his audible breath as he twirled his broom in elaborate circles, trying to circumvent the bludgers with the quaffle under his arm. "Ooof!"

Arthur managed to hold onto his broom, but barely. He dropped the quaffle into Molly's outstretched hands. Then Madame Pomfrey zipped by, and she cast a healing charm on a bruise that must have been forming on Arthur's back.

Harry tore his eyes away from that spectacle, amazed at the nurse's ability to heal and play at the same time. She'd grumbled about that at first, but Mad-Eye had insisted. Harry agreed that their trainer had a point – battle wouldn't stop to allow Madame Pomfrey to heal the wounded.

_'Any other ideas?'_ Minerva asked, her mind-voice carrying a weary undertone.

Harry's mind burped, coughed, and hiccoughed to a halt, his body and broom with it. First year he'd seen Tom drinking unicorn blood. Could a magical baby's blood have similar properties? And how would the benefit be extracted? Maybe it wouldn't grant immortality, but what about youth? Mental invigoration? Tom desperately needed something like that with the Alzheimer's-like curse Harry had cast on him.

When he voiced those thoughts, a chorus of moans and retches threatened to deafen him - if his mind had ears, that is. Either way, this necklace from the Weasleys was giving him a smashing headache.

Harry massaged his temples with one hand, automatically flipping his broom in a loop to avoid the bludgers trailing him. He whipped his wand out and flung them to the far wall of the quidditch pitch, which was charmed to keep the nasty things within playing field. That gave him a few seconds of peace, and Harry flew as fast as his Firebolt would allow, his eyes searching for any hint of the snitch. He was ready to be done.

_'I think we must conclude we have no idea what Tom wants with that poor child. Perhaps we're completely wrong and he wants to raise it.'_ Minerva's voice was faint. _'Ms. Lovegood, could you update us on your spell?'_

Harry nodded his head in agreement. Chances are they'd find out the night of Tom's surprise what he wanted the baby for.

Luna flew in a random pattern around the pitch, her zig-zags bringing her near collision at some points. Perfectly placed spells flowed out of her wand, knocking bludgers off course and slowly clearing a pathway for the quaffle players on Harry's team. '_Our anchoring spell is close to completion, but the runes powering it require too much energy for one person to cast. We're trying to find alternate combinations. Harry, did you know the snitch is fluttering behind you?'_

Harry whirled around on his broom, catching sight of the snitch, only to lose it as bludgers converged on him at once. He grumbled to himself, _'This meeting could be over by now!' _He forgot everyone else would hear, Mental and audible snickers and chuckles rolled over him, with Mad-Eye's the loudest, and Harry grinned and turned the conversation away from his mistake. _' My wand might be able to power the spell,' _he thought._ 'How long do the effects last?' _A gust of wind blew him to the side, and he straightened his broom out.

Silence met his proposal. '_We're not sure,' _Madame Pomfrey thought. '_The killing curse has no affect on Luna's kittens, days after we cast the original spell. The new, revised spell could have a shorter effect - if we could successfully power it. Even with more efficient runes underlying it, the power draw is incredibly large for more advanced, complex souls.'_

Luna drew up alongside Harry. _'You should try it, but you may want to look in that direction.' _She nodded her head to the side, and Harry saw gold flit away. He chased it, wondering what quidditch would have been like if the easily distracted, slender girl had chosen to play seeker for Ravenclaw. Perhaps she really could see the world better than the rest of them.

Shaking that thought off, Harry squelched a sigh of frustration over the disappearing snitch and set to circling the pitch at high speed. If he outran the bludgers, perhaps he could actually concentrate on ending the meeting by finding the snitch.

Molly moved the conversation on to the next topic, her quick comment on the heels of Luna's statement hinted that the matron clinging to her broom with white knuckles was just as anxious to return to the Manor as the rest of them. _'The food situation is dire. We're saving __the nutritional supplements for the children and pregnant and nursing mothers. Our diet is hardly well-balanced. I'm worried disease will set in.'_

_ 'Thank you, Molly, for the update,' _Minerva said, '_Unless someone has any suggestions to improve our food supply...'_

She tossed the quaffle to Moody. He caught the ball with one hand, eye whirling around in a complete circle, allowing him to deftly avoid all incoming bludgers and fliers. Using only his legs to steer, Mad-Eye tossed the ball past Ron through a hoop for the first score of the morning. '_10 points to the Rolling Eyeballs, 0 to the Kings,' _he taunted.

_'It's hardly fair if you wait till bludgers gang up on me.' _Ron said, flinging his fringe out of his face. The fancy flying he'd been required to do to get rid of the pests had left the hoops open for a crucial moment.

'_And war is fair?' _Mad-Eye asked, silencing Ron's complaint.

Harry decided to return the conversation back to the meeting. _'Can't people use yeast and soy to make all sorts of things? I was wondering about that the other day.'_

_ 'We don't have any soybeans,'_ Molly sighed, _'but I'll look into it. If we had the right food for the yeast, we could make massive quantities. With Ginny's taste spell, it might be tolerable'_

_ 'Ew,'_

Somehow, Harry didn't think Hermione meant that comment to be heard, and he held in a laugh. He agreed. The thought of eating yeast cakes, even disguised at something else, was stomach turning. He consoled himself with the fact that it would help keep everyone alive. He pictured the Dursleys digging into their uncharmed food full of pungent yeast, and a ripple of amusement ran through him.

_ 'Perhaps we can look into procuring some sugar cane or sugar beets. That would help us grow yeast as well as being a food source in and of itself. ' _Minerva thought. _'I have one last piece of information. Two, rather, if we include Kingsley's suspicions. Kingsley?' _Minerva's skill with the communication necklace had improved – her mind-voice no longer held emotional undertones.

Harry rather regretted that.

Kingsley's mind-voice was as deep and smooth as his real one, and it seeped into Harry's mind like a rich, dark chocolate melted to perfection. _'I expect Tom will send a group of food procurement agents to the muggle bunker forming the seat of the surviving British government. Just a suspicion, as Minerva indicated, but a sound one I believe. I'd like to start training a group in the bunker's layout and in tactics useful in that sort of a battle.'_

_'Fred, would you say the_ _odds are even that Tom will do this baby thing at the same time he launches a full-scale attack against the muggles?'_ George's voice broke in for the first time since the exercise began. He and Fred had been spiraling around the quidditch pitch, banging away at bludgers with actual bats, not wands.

Strange, that. Harry wondered why Mad-Eye hadn't required they use their wands for defense along with the rest of them.

'_Speaking of this baby thing,' _Minerva said, allowing a hint of dryness to seep into the sending. '_Tom has sent death eaters close to him on a search for the oldest, largest tree in Britain. Perhaps our resident wandmaker will be able to figure out why.'_

Sunlight flickered off tiny, floating wings, and Harry set a reckless pace in pursuit of the golden snitch. Ginny, the other team's seeker, plowed through the air in his wake, buffeted by the eddies left from his passage.

Harry hoped that was the last item of business, since this game had just taken an unfortunate turn. All fourteen bludgers seemed to sense the snitch's danger, and as one they hurtled toward Harry from all directions.

Harry jinked, ducked, and wove through the storm of bludgers, leaving Ginny far behind. He hoped he'd be a sufficient distraction for the nasty blighters – Ginny's broom wasn't as fast as his Firebolt.

He strained to keep his eyes on the snitch, and when it dove toward the ground in a corkscrew pattern, Harry followed, tight on its tail. Even if he caught it now, he'd still be clobbered by fourteen bludgers. He hoped Madame Pomfrey could fix that.

Unless...

The wind in his ears roared, and he knew without looking behind him that the bludgers had gained speed. Harry suspected Mad-Eye had charmed the balls to have just such a reaction. After all, in battle the losing side often fights harder in the moment before its defeat.

The ground hurtled up at him, and a fierce grin crossed his face. Just as he was about to hit the ground, he put on a final burst of speed, snagged the snitch, and pulled his broom up sharply in a Wronski Feint. But he didn't stop. He hurtled forward, and the sounds of bludgers thudding and plowing into the earth filled the air.

Music to his ears.

He held the snitch up for everyone to see, and both teams cheered. Anything that ended this exercise was a blessing. If people on brooms could limp, these did. Fred's nose looked broken, judging by the blood running down his off-center nose. George clutched an arm close to his body. A look of pain shot across his face when Madame Pomfrey pulled it closer to her so she could fix it. Everyone had dark, large bruises they examined on their arms, legs, and faces, pulling clothing back to assess the damage.

'_Since the meeting's not come to a close...'_ Mad-Eye said, raising his wand to charm the bludgers back into action.

_'It's closed!' _Minerva said hastily, pulling off the communication charm, tapping it with her wand and intoning, "_Finite incantatem. _Excellent training, Alastor." She said to the old, grizzled auror. "Please inform me of the next one. I don't believe I've managed the trick of filtering out all that noise in my head and thinking clearly at the same time." She turned and walked stiffly back to the entrance to the Manor, broom tucked under her arm.

When Harry handed his own communication charm back, he heard Fred whisper to George, "She's got a point. I feel cross-eyed from all those voices."

"And that noise!" George shuddered.

"I figure if we make the charm sensitive only to mental shouts, that might do the trick..." Fred bent his head closer to his brother's, as if to keep the locals from learning a crucial trade secret.

Harry followed Ron, Hermione, and Ginny back down into the Manor, his stomach clenching as his worries returned. Mad-Eye's rather unique quidditch game had driven all thoughts of goblins and horcruxes from his mind. Tomorrow – Saturday – he and Bill would travel to the goblin nation, hopefully for the last time. They had two more horcruxes to get rid of.

To be continued...


	59. Chapter 58

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling...

From the last chapter

_ "I figure if we make the charm sensitive only to mental shouts, that might do the trick..." Fred bent his head closer to his brother's, as if to keep the locals from learning a crucial trade secret._

_ Harry followed Ron, Hermione, and Ginny back down into the Manor, his stomach clenching as his worries returned. Mad-Eye's rather unique quidditch game had driven all thoughts of goblins and horcruxes from his mind. Tomorrow – Saturday – he and Bill would travel to the goblin nation, hopefully for the last time. They had two more horcruxes to get rid of. _

Chapter 58

"Bill, you've got the rest of the dinnerware?" Harry adjusted his own bag holding the misbegotten horcrux from Slytherin's locket.

Bill nodded. "Ready."

Harry apparated from the Manor to the goblin nation's back door. Their secret, hidden back door that would no doubt be bricked up as soon as all this was over.

When Bill popped into existence beside him, Harry strode over to the large boulder on the top of the hill in front of them and moved the doorbell rock. Harry cocked his head, listening closely. He still couldn't hear any chimes.

He took several large steps back to avoid accidents with boulders rolling the wrong way. Somehow, he thought that might pass for humor amongst the goblins.

Rock scraped against rock, filling the air with a grinding sound till the trap door was exposed. Then it exploded open, puffs of dirt flying into the air when the back of the door hit the dusty ground.

"Are they really here Dad? Really really? They took so long!"

"Yes Hopper, they're really here," came Scrabbleknife's weary reply.

The adult goblin growled at Harry from the tunnel below – literally growled – as he scrambled down the ladder. Harry hid a smile. The beleaguered father might strangle him if he saw Harry's amusement.

Bill's form, lithe as a cat, skipped down the ladder, and the former Gringott's employee landed lightly on the balls of his feet.

"Follow me," Scrabbleknife said, and Harry was sure he'd heard a muttered "laggards" attached to that.

As they walked, Hopper filled the tunnel with delighted chatter and laughter. "Did you know I've gotten wand lessons? I can make a ball of light this big!" He stretched his arms as wide as they could go. "I'm the best in the class! But I hurry back right after lessons. Guard duty is so boring when it's only one person, and my dad misses me. I can't let him down, you know..."

Harry listened with one ear while they walked through miles of corridor. The babble that had seemed funny and cheerful began to wear on him, and he started to understand the growls and glares Scrabbleknife sent his way. As lively as Hopper was, his enthusiasm might best be spread out among dozens – no, hundreds – of people.

That Hopper made the largest ball of light in his class made perfect sense. The goblin boy was a bundle of light and energy, even if Harry was feeling blinded, or deafened, by it at the moment. He began to daydream what would happen to goblin society if this little one grew up to be its leader. Visions of dancing goblins grinning sharp-toothed smiles flooded into his mind, and Harry shuddered. They might conquer the world by overdosing the unexpecting populace with sugary cheerfulness.

Harry then grinned at Hopper and decided to encourage the boy. He nodded and murmured in all the right places, and the delighted boy doubled his enthusiasm.

Once they reached Drangfor's Unmasking, the Njarishka joined them. She eyed Harry appraisingly, stepping close and examining things Harry couldn't see with her fingers. A bright cherry red mist dripped down her fingers before disappearing into her hand, and the Njarishka closed her wrinkled eyes, relaxing fully for the first time in front of Harry.

Harry's stomach tightened with anxiety and anticipation as she delved deeper. Had his pact with Snape worked? Was the sickly green emerald curse less tenacious, less hooked into his soul? He squinted when the Njarishka's finger drew back, a grey smoke trailing after her. Harry knew without saying what that meant, and he clenched his fists to keep the disappointment from showing on his face.

His pact with Snape had helped, but the curse was still there. Weaker, but there.

One last time, the Njarishka plunged her fingers into the clear air around Harry, this time pulling out the familiar, putrid green color. The Njarishka didn't spit against the wall to rid herself of its taint this time. Instead, the green turned brown, then red, slowly brighting in intensity till only the cherry red mist remained.

Harry's eyes narrowed. She'd used his mother's protection to prevent the taint from Tom's horcrux contaminating her, he was sure of it.

The Njarishka smiled at him, exposing sharp teeth. "You've done well, human boy. The red protection spell is stronger – much stronger than before. We'll allow you to travel to the vaults. I find it...unlikely that you'll betray us to the _protecting_ forces surrounding our bank."

She turned to the side and barked orders in gobbledygook. Two soldiers, each with a short sword and shield ready, marched through the waterfall, the one that removed all disguises from passers-through.

"Harry Potter, these soldiers will escort you, along with Scrabbleknife. You must continue to work on that death curse! I fear it will do you harm when you least expect it, and I would hate for the goblin nation to lose such a...valuable human. I've gathered much gold from your visits."

Prestige, too, he guessed. Harry ignored the subtle insult, the implication his life's value could be measured by the money they made off him. Perhaps that was how they truly thought. He sketched a quick bow of respect to show his gratitude for her information and walked through Drangfor's Unmasking. Rivulets of water soaked his robes, and the chill cavern air raised goosebumps on his arms while he walked.

He could cast a drying spell, but Bill, walking ahead of him, didn't. Whether that would show weakness, or if the goblins soldiers would view a drawn wand as a threat, Harry didn't know. So he ignored the damp chill in favor of thinking about the information he'd learned.

His pact with Petunia must have strengthened his mother's protection spell, and Harry made a mental note to deliver better food to the Dursley house deep under the cliff. While his relatives weren't happy, Vernon and Dudley had at least stopped shouting loud enough to wake the whole Manor.

The house elves now cleaned and delivered food before the Dursleys woke up, a boon for both parties. Harry was grateful his relatives hadn't checked the cupboard under the stairs during the night. Only Petunia would, of course, and Harry suspected she knew he'd continued sleeping there. At least he could apparate there on his own. Dobby had better things to do than stand guard over him while he slept.

While there was no mattress in the tiny closet, Harry cast new cushioning charms each night once Bill had broken the surveillance charms. That had taken days. Long days where Harry ached from sleeping on the hard floor. Apparently Dumbledore and each Minister of Magic had placed dozens of the charms on the house, and each had to be undone one at a time.

Harry's skin crawled when he thought of how he hadn't even been able to turn around without the Ministry knowing about it. There were some things no one should listen to, and Harry hoped the spying wizards had been utterly disgusted by Vernon's and Dudley's toilet habits.

He'd never tell the Dursleys about that – Petunia might revoke her agreement entirely, nullifying his mother's protection charm all in one go. Harry wouldn't blame her. Who wants their entire private lives on display for perfect strangers?

Not his aunt, even if she did use that long neck of hers to great advantage while peering over fences. At least she had some code of honor – she'd never think of sneaking a glance through a crack in a neighbor's curtain. Through an open window, yes. A clearly closed and curtained off window, no.

The ride on the goblin's private cart dried the last of his clothes out, but Harry didn't feel warm till they reached Bellatrix Lestrange's vault. "What's making it so hot?" he whispered to Bill while trying to penetrate the cavern's darkness. Their lone torch cast its pitiful, flickering light as far as the edge of the tunnel, but no further.

He didn't trust unexpected changes. Perhaps Mad-Eye was rubbing off on him.

Bill stood straight, his hand straying to his sheathed wand. Tension radiated off him. "They must have exercised the dragon guarding the vault."

Dragon. Guarding the vault. Harry didn't gulp, but he wanted to. Flying on his Firebolt to evade the dragon wouldn't work n close quarters, and he felt a stab of relief they hadn't broken into the bank on their own.

Scrabbleknife, less surly now that Hopper had been left behind with much complaint at Drangfor's Unmasking, growled something in gobbledygook before Harry had an opportunity to enter the cavern behind him.

Harry heard some snorts and the sharp snap of wings, but no more. If he hurried across the cavern, at least all of the others, goblin warriors included, did the same.

Once Scrabbleknife opened the door to expose a rough-hewn cave opening, Harry pushed past him to begin the search. Who knew how many cups they'd have to try before they found the right one?

A hand grabbed his shoulder, stopping him with a jerk.

"Harry, wait." Bill turned to Scrabbleknife. "Our agreement stated we could search the vault, find the item we're looking for, but not take it out of the vault. To do so, you need to take off the vault's protections." Bill eyed the piles of gold and other family heirlooms with distrust. Understandably so. Grinning skulls adorned with crowns surrounded by skins from unknown magical beasts hardly inspired confidence in the owner's benevolence.

Scrabbleknife shook his head. "Impossible. Our contract with the Lestranges states goblins can take vault protections off only for the Lestranges or their heirs. If you want to wait for weeks while we take the _geminio _and _flagrante_ curses off each item by hand..." The goblin sounded gleeful when he mentioned weeks – as if he'd like nothing better than to escape guarding the back entrance to his home for that long.

Bill hissed under his breath.

Harry knew the _flagrante_ curse heated up an object till it was burning hot, but _geminio_ he'd never heard of. He cocked his head at Bill in question.

"Everything you touch duplicates endlessly till the chamber fill up, and it burns you. It would be a toss up what we died of."

That sounded just like Bellatrix Lestrange.

Harry's gaze swept the cave, searching for Hufflepuff's goblet. At least they had recent pictures of it. He gritted his teeth in frustration. "There's too many cups! We'll never find it unless we go into the vault."

Bill fingered his dragon fang earring while he thought. "Heirs can access it, you say?"

Scrabbleknife nodded.

"Rodolph and Rabastan Lestrange spent all their adult life fighting or in prison," Bill said. "They have no heirs. Have they specified any?"

"Not formal heirs as of this date. They said they planned to live forever, like their master." Scrabbleknife snorted with disgust. Or perhaps it was glee – if no formal heirs were named, did the goblins get the money when they died?.

That foolishness astonished Harry. Did they have any idea what Tom Riddle did to achieve immortality? Surely he hadn't shared that secret. Likely Bellatrix was just crazy enough to believe her devotion to a mad man would lengthen her life.

_Although not so mad, anymore,_ Harry acknowledged to himself. That had been healed, an unexpected side effect when Harry had accessed the external magic pool to gather the already-eaten chestnuts.

But from what he'd heard from Remus and Arthur, Tom was steadily declining, succumbing to a magically induced form of the forgetting disease. _At least that was something I did right, _Harry thought. Snape's wit sharpening potion, even modified, was losing its effect. Tom had been reduced to several hours of audiences with ministry officials and death eaters per day. In between those times, he was a rambling, drooling, frightened man.

Harry had enjoyed reading those transcripts. His hard smile at the memory had Scrabbleknife drawing back a step.

"Harry here was Sirius Black's heir," Bill said, "As the heir of Bellatrix Lestrange's cousin, could he not be considered an informal heir to her vault as well? Till her formal declaration, of course."

Scrabbleknife harrumphed. "Splitting hairs, that's what that is. Draco Malfoy, her nephew, would be designated the formal heir. Not him," he jabbed a finger at Harry.

Bill put a hand up to hold off any conclusions. "Ah, but there has been no formal declaration. Since Bellatrix Lestrange is surely part of the the siege on Gringotts, I propose that until current matters are resolved, Draco Malfoy and Harry be declared her informal, joint heirs."

Harry wanted to laugh, but he kept his face straight to not ruin Bill's careful negotiations. Draco would be vomiting right now if he knew he was joint heirs to anything with Harry.

Scrabbleknife nodded, his mouth twisting as if he were disappointed. "There is precedent for that. But informal heirs can't take a knut from the vault!" He glared at Harry like he'd been planning to steal the entire vault.

Scrabbleknife snapped his fingers, and a cracked, leather-bound book appeared in his hands. "Place your wand on this."

Harry glanced at Bill, wary of following the instructions. Hadn't Arthur said something about losing his magic if the test went wrong with a guest book?

Bill nodded his encouragement, and Harry mentally shrugged. They had to get rid of the horcrux, and he didn't see any other options. He gave the book a brisk tap with his wand and waited, muscles agonizingly tight with tension. What would it feel like to lose his magic? He'd lived like a muggle for eleven years. He was sure he could do so again.

The aged book flipped open, and Harry saw a green sparkle of light write below the last entry, "Harry Potter, joint-heir apparent, 25 July 1997."

Harry blinked several times, relief running through his limbs like water. Bellatrix would pitch a dragon-sized fit when she looked at that, and he wouldn't be surprised if goblin heads rolled. Troubled, he asked "Is there anyway to erase my name?"

Scrabbleknife shook his head. "Only the owner of the vault can do so."

Bellatrix would just have to never enter her vault again, that was all there was to it. "Is it safe to walk in, then?"

Scrabbleknife gestured him inside with one hand. "The guest book removed the guardian charms. They'll be reinstated once you leave the vault."

Bill followed behind Harry, and they sifted through what seemed like endless goblets.

"How many of these things can one family have?" Harry complained.

"One for every meal for every person, with no goblet repeated in a moon cycle," Bill replied, searching the heavily-laden shelves containing armor and weapons for stray or hidden cups.

"A moon cycle?"

"Superstitions," Bill dismissed.

Harry placed into a growing pile goblets inlaid with jewels, fine gold ones mixed with copper and silver, and plain crystal cups.

"Here, Harry! Is this it?" Harry turned around. Bill was near the door, pointing at a shelf containing a two-handled, golden cup with a badger etched on the side.

Bill reached a hand to pluck it off the shelf for a better look.

"Stop!" Harry shouted, jumping to his feet and dashing over to Bill, prepared to tackle him if need be. "That's it! Don't touch it! Remember Dumbledore?"

Bill's hand stopped centimeters from the cup and Harry batted his hand away.

"The dragon skin glove, remember? And shouldn't you check it for curses?"

Bill's dazed eyes focused on Harry, and he could see realization rapidly dawn. "I don't know what-" He stopped, not needing to finish the sentence. Tom Riddle's horcruxes were devious and dangerous.

Harry pulled out the silver plate from the prime minister of Britain's collection, and he placed an old pence on the center of the plate. It's age would help the horcrux meld more easily with it. Soul-pieces sought stability above all else. He'd learned a lot in the past few days about such things. Once they got rid of this horcrux and the goblin-wrought plate, they'd try the transferring process on his own scar.

Harry pulled his own dragon skin gloves out and held the goblin-wrought plate in front of him, a precaution to prevent another horcrux from binding to his soul. He didn't know if his improved protection spell could stand against that.

The last thing they needed was for Harry to turn to the dark side before a major battle.

His back touched the opposite wall of the crowded vault, and he wished he could back up further, but he had to stay in here till the process was over. If he stepped outside, the goblins might declare the visit over.

He glanced at Scrabbleknife and cast the _muffliato_ charm. He didn't want Scrabbleknife learning these secrets. The fewer who knew anything about horcruxes, the better. It would be best if this abomination died with Tom.

Bill checking the cup for curses and then placed it on an unpolished slab of wood from his bag _"Transfero animus secui ex hic ut illic!" _he chanted. After the eighth time, a squirming mass of blackness, like a pile of worms turning in upon itself, rose up from the goblet. The green emeralds on the cup flashed once, as if reluctantly letting a companion go.

Centimeter by centimeter, the horcrux was unwillingly forced toward its new home. Sweat streamed down Bill's red face. The wreathing mass of blackness stopped above the pence, revolving and spinning in place. Bill clenched his hand, grunted, and snapped his wand to force it into the coin.

Instead, the black miasma shot toward Harry. _I must be too close! _Shock unfroze his limbs, and he brought the goblin-wrought plate up in front of him. The blackness disappeared, trickles licking around the edges of the plate as if searching for a new, better option. Harry held the double horcrux as far away as possible, and he watched with horrified fascination as a few tendrils tried to wrap themselves around his dragon skin gloves. When they couldn't gain purchase, the goblin-wrought plate sucked the last soul-fragment worms inside itself.

The addition of a second soul-fragment made the goblin-wrought plate pulse with evil darkness. Harry set the thing down with a shudder.

"Bloody...bat...bogies," Bill gasped, gloved hands on his knees while he bent over and gasped for air.

When he straightened, Harry saw that the previously red-faced Weasley now looked pale and grey. He wished he had some chocolate to offer, but Madame Pomfrey kept that for emergencies.

"To put it mildly," Harry sighed, eyeing the plate exuding menace. Now their need to destroy the blasted thing had doubled.

He turned to the wide-eyed Scrabbleknife, canceled the _muffliato _charm, and launched into his prepared speech. "We'd like to negotiate the destruction of this plate, created by fine goblin hands centuries ago. The fate of the wizarding world, including Gringotts and the goblin nation, rest on it. Will you create a bargain with us?"

To be continued...


	60. Chapter 59

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

From the last chapter:

_"To put it mildly," Harry sighed, eyeing the plate exuding menace. Now their need to destroy the blasted thing had doubled. _

_He turned to the wide-eyed Scrabbleknife, canceled the muffliato charm, and launched into his prepared speech. "We'd like to negotiate the destruction of this plate, created by fine goblin hands centuries ago. The fate of the wizarding world, including Gringotts and the goblin nation, rest on it. Will you create a bargain with us?"_

Chapter 59

"Abomination!" Scrabbleknife growled under his breath and wove his hand in a complicated pattern. "You bring evil among us and wish to release it!"

Harry had never seen that gesture before, but he guessed the goblin in front of him warded off evil from the goblin-wrought plate. And evil it was, he couldn't disagree with that. "We don't want to release it," Harry contradicted, sliding past Scrabbleknife and waving for Bill to follow him out of Bellatrix Lestrange's vault. "We want to destroy it. The evil will disappear if the plate can't be used as a plate anymore. Melting it down ought to do the trick."

Scrabbleknife squinted one eye at him, as if examining a particularly troublesome cave bug. "The Njarishka will decide that. We'll take you to Nagurk to negotiate." He slammed the door shut, and Bill barely slipped out in time. He'd paused to scoop their own items back into the bags.

Harry hurried after the goblin. This time, the ride and trek back to Drangfor's Unmasking was silent. Harry wrapped the plate in a spare piece of Madame Malkin's special, protective cloth. He didn't want the extra power in the plate to influence them. He suspected soul-pieces could come to life on their own if they gained critical magical mass, like Tom's diary almost did during second year by draining Ginny.

Wrapping the plate helped, but Harry still felt weighed down by the heavy plate. He gritted his teeth and walked faster once they got out of the cart. The sooner they finished negotiating, the better.

This time, Harry and Bill weren't allowed through the waterfall. Drangfor's Unmasking separated them from the rest of the goblin nation, all except for the two guardian goblins again taking up their station on either side of the entrance.

Each kept sending uneasy glances at the plate resting at Harry's feet. He didn't like that – what if they were tempted by the plate? He debated about putting it into his bottomless bag, but something inside whispered that he shouldn't. He didn't know why, but he could guess, and his mind threw out ideas like water spurting out a garden hose. The most likely one was Tom's soul fragment could drain the magic from the bag. If that soul piece became strong enough and Harry let it out of his sight, he might never find it again. More ideas followed, each one becoming more paranoid than the last, till Harry shook his head clear.

Maybe he should put it in his bag after all.

After what seemed like ages, both the Njarishka and Nagurk splashed through the waterfall, spraying Harry and Bill.

The Njarishka performed the same complicated gesture Scrabbleknife had. "You dare bring that through here? Do you wish our nation destroyed? Do you bring this in here for the Great Liar himself?"

Harry repressed a sigh, knowing that wouldn't help their cause. He glanced at Bill to see if he wanted to take the lead in the negotiations, but Bill shook a pale face before glancing down at the parcel at Harry's feet.

Maybe the protection spell was shielding Harry more than he realized, paranoid thoughts or not. Other than that, he only felt a slight discouragement, which was understandable in the circumstances.

Harry ignored that feeling and turned back to the Njarishka. "We have to destroy it, and we need your help; that's why we brought it. That green stuff you see around me, two of those are trapped inside this."

Nagurk stepped in, his voice rough with anger. "We should throw you out the front doors of Gringotts. Let you humans fight among yourselves first. Weaken each other before you attack us, as you surely will."

Harry looked back and forth between the two goblin leaders. The suspicion and distrust was more than he'd expected. Without a word, he untied his robes and dropped them on the floor. Then he took off his shirt made from Madame Malkin's protection cloth.

Goosebumps popped up on his arms when they were exposed to the cool cave air, but Harry ignored them. "Bill, give me your shirt. Don't ask questions, just give it to me." He bent down and slid the already-wrapped plate inside his own shirt, balling the extra cloth on one side before flipping it over and doing the same with Bill's.

Madame Malkin had by now made full sets of clothing for all potential fighters in the Manor. Thankfully, she'd spend years stockpiling the stuff. Decades. It was all used now, all but scraps. Harry had no doubt they would be thanking her on their knees after fighting Tom next week.

He glanced up and saw the suspicion lessen on Nagurk's face – the twisted mouth smoothed, and he straightened out of a fighter's pose. Just for that, Harry decided they'd better plant a whole orange tree entirely for Madame Malkin. Maybe even a banana or coconut tree.

Wrapping his robes around him again, Harry stood and faced the two goblins. "It seeks to divide us to prevent from being destroyed. If we melt it down, the evil in it will die. Dissipate."

At least, that's what Hermione said.

The Njarishka moved in a tight circle around Harry and the wrapped plate. "Yes, I see the similarities between you and the plate. Did you want us to melt you down as well?" She threw her silvered head back and cackled, the loud sound bouncing off the stone walls of the tunnel.

"No thank you," Harry said, deciding politeness was the best route for now. "We'll take care of that when I go back. Goblin-wrought metal, on the other hand, can only be destroyed by goblins."

Nagurk shook his head. "You humans never understand. You seek to buy what can only be borrowed. Can you buy part of a goblin himself and seek to make it your slave? And now you seek to destroy part of a goblin? Have you no honor?"

Harry cast a surprised glance tinged with desperation at Bill, not understanding anything the goblin said. Oh, the words made sense, but not strung all together.

Bill, spurred to action by Harry's silent plea, shook his head as if dispelling a foggy cloud from over him. "Help us understand then, Nagurk. Artfully crafted goblin items can be rented only for the life of the buyer. That is why we brought the rest of the set back to you, as a token of good will."

"A thief returning what he's stolen? Should he not be punished and fined for enslaving a goblin?" Nagurk shot back, scowling.

"That's what I don't understand," Harry burst out, looking back and forth between the two. "How can keeping dinnerware be slavery?"

Nagurk rounded on him. "Goblins put a part of themselves into their work."

_Horcruxes?_ Harry felt his eyes stretch wide of their own volition at that thought.

Nagurk shook his head, seeming to answer Harry's unspoken thought. "A piece of their magic, that's what goes into their work. Goblins create only a certain number of pieces in their life. By refusing to return what you borrowed, you hold hostage their magic. Humans should pay for the privilege of a goblin's magic. Pay given either to him or his heirs. That's how a goblin creates wealth. Money in exchange for magic."

Harry's mind spun as the new information tried to settle inside his brain.

"That explains a lot," Bill muttered under his breath.

"You will of course be required to sign a confidentiality contract," Nagurk said, snapping his fingers. A parchment appeared in it, and with a flick of a wrist it opened.

Nagurk must not have imbued all of his magic in his creations yet.

"But why?" Harry protested. If humans knew this one fact, surely they would pay goblins rent each generation.

"Why do we not want humans to know half our population is magicless?" Nagurk raised one bushy eyebrow with derision.

"Oh." That made sense. He waited till Bill approved the contract, then signed it. The usual consequences for breaking contracts filled the page: bones melting, agonizing death, etc. etc. He imagined the goblins rarely had to reinforce their bargains. Ludo Bagman must have weaseled out from signing an actual piece of parchment. How else would Ludo have been able to go on the run after refusing to pay his gambling debts?

"We come back to the fact this plate has to be destroyed," Harry said, "for your nation as well as ours. Without it, that madman can't be killed."

This time both the Njarishka and Nagurk made the goblin sign to ward off evil.

"Even so, what will you give us in return for this great boon you ask of us? Destroying a goblin's magic harms not only him, but his posterity. They lose honor and gold," Nagurk said.

"We will return the entire set, of course. Goblets, silverware, plates and bowls."

Nagurk sniffed with derision. "Minus one plate we have to destroy. The set is worthless."

"A new plate could be forged," Harry said, hoping to delay bringing out his only trump card.

Nagurk shook his head. "The plates have absorbed all magic used on them for centuries. This set was borrowed by the Blacks I presume?" He didn't pause to allow Harry to confirm that. "The new plate would have little value next to it's companions. It would be flawed, not worthy for resale, especially with that hideous crest the Blacks commissioned."

"Perhaps you could melt down the rest of the plates and extract the magic the goblin put in it?" Harry suggested.

Nagurk narrowed his eyes in thought. "Possible, human. We have many in Grishook's line who could use that magic. But still not worth the boon you ask. All of the gold in your vault would not be worth the destruction of part of a goblin. You rob him of his eternity amongst us."

Harry didn't think his vault would be adequate to the task, either. He wondered if the goblins could somehow communicate with their lost and dead fellows this way, through the magic in their creations.

He took a deep breath – slowly, so as not to tip his hand. Although it might not matter if he did – the goblins had something he had to have. Bill had said earlier the key was to make them feel like they'd got the better end of the bargain, and Harry had a few ideas about that.

"How is the light from your wands working for you?" he asked, in an apparent change of subject.

Wariness showed in every sagging fold of Nagurk's aging face. "Food is growing. That's all that matters. We need no more wands."

"But what about food?" Harry asked. "Do you have enough to keep the goblin nation safe from starvation?"

"We have more than you. You can't see any of our children's ribs, unlike you, Harry Potter."

Harry fought down the heat threatening to rise in his face. Yes, they'd seen him without his shirt on when he wrapped the horcrux in protective fabric, but what did he care? They weren't Ginny, and that's all that mattered there.

"Crops fail, though. Blight, pests, disease. Surely you can't count on feeding yourselves from now on," Harry pressed. Neville had been going on about those at every meal since Luna had been working on her mother's soul-anchoring spell.

Nagurk pressed his face close to Harry's. "Threats, I see. Humans always resort to threats to get what they want." His face twisted into a rictus of hate.

Harry shook his head sharply. "No! I'd never do anything to starve your children. How could I do anything to Hopper?"

At the mention of the goblin boy, Nagurk barked a laugh, hatred receding for a moment. "Scrabbleknife should do something with that boy, or he'll be the death of us all."

Harry grinned, remembering the energetic goblin. Hopper would have driven his own aunt bonkers, too. Perhaps Scrabbleknife was the goblin equivalent of a saint.

"What I offer are seeds. Magically enhanced seeds that cut growing time by two-thirds, increases the yield four-fold, and repels pests, blight, and diseases." Harry just hoped Neville succeeded in altering the soul-anchoring spell into a repelling ward to protect a plant's body, and thus its theoretical soul.

The Njarishka gasped when she heard Harry's offer, clapping a hand over her mouth to cut off the sound.

Bill had educated Harry well on negotiating with goblins, and he knew any reaction, let alone one so expressive, meant Harry had offered a glorious prize to them. Glorious because they needed it. Of course, he was also sure the Njarishka would be chastised for her reaction later.

He didn't want that, so he determined to sweeten the pot further than Nagurk anticipated. The Njarishka had been an immeasurable help to him with her ability to see the curses, horcruxes, and protection charms attached to him.

"A small payment," Nagurk scoffed, but the sound rang hollow in the damp tunnel.

"Hardly small," Harry disagreed, pulling a handful of wheat from a pouch hanging from his belt. This was Neville's experimental wheat he'd modified to be pest resistant. Of course, they weren't completely sure it worked yet. "Wheat, corn, or beans. You can choose one."

This time, Nagurk drew back from Harry's hand with disgust. "Phaw!" he spat. "Human food!"

Confusion skittered through Harry, and he looked to Bill for help again. Bill shrugged his shoulders, his face as perplexed as Harry felt.

"What kind of food do goblins eat, then? We might be able to make arrangements to modify seed for you, if you gave us samples."

"Food that grows underground, foolish boy! Roots. Potatoes, carrots, yams, beets. Things grown underground give us strength!" Nagurk pressed closer to Harry to drive his point home. "Give us two of those, Harry Potter, and you will have your bargain."

Harry let the handful of wheat trickle through his fingers back into the pouch, making sure not one grain fell to the ground. He had no doubt the goblins would take that one grain, cultivate it, and sell the result after several crops. It should be Neville choice when, or even if, to sell his seed.

"We have none of those modified yet. But we will deliver one bushel each of modified potatoes and yams in a month to six weeks time if you give us samples." Harry said, fighting the temptation to clench his hands as his stomach knotted with anxiety.. "But we need to destroy the plate now."

Nagurk and the Njarishka stepped back and whispered to each other. Harry took the opportunity to wipe the sweat beading on his forehead before it trickled into his eyes. Bill nodded his approval at Harry, and they waited in silence for the goblins' decision.

"We require that you give no one else the strains you modify. We will have sole rights over their growth and use once you give us the final product." Nagurk said. "And you must confirm the potato and yams work as promised before delivering them. Therefore, we give you till the human holiday of Halloween to deliver these to us. Ten bushels of each, nothing less! Are we agreed?"

Harry nodded his relieved agreement, not bothering to negotiate more, and signed the proffered contract. They hadn't put any shenanigans in it this time, and they'd even excluded the typical descriptions of gruesome death. Instead, if they missed the deadline they would have to deliver other modified types of food suitable to the goblin palate.

Both Harry and Bill signed with a flourish.

"Scrabbleknife, go find one of Grishook's line still working the forges. Order him to meet us at the fire pit."

Scrabbleknife ran off, splashing through the water as if pursued. The plate must have been affecting him more than he'd let on.

Instead of following, Nagurk led them a different way, back to a hidden tunnel. "You will not take that cursed thing back through our nation, " was the only explanation he gave.

Deep into the earth they went, taking one cart after another, till the almost unbearable heat caused a sopping wet Harry to ask permission to cast cooling charms. It galled him to ask, but he didn't dare do anything to unsettle their truce. All that mattered right now was destroying this horcrux.

He couldn't believe the goblins weren't sweating at all – they seemed at home in the heat, relaxing and luxuriating in it.

After hours of travel, their cart stopped next to a pool of molten lava, and Harry knew why fiendfyre couldn't destroy goblin-wrought metal; it had been forged in magic and lava.

A wizened goblin stooped with age stood next to the churning pool radiating a punishing heat. Only a few strands of white hair clung to his scalp. "You asked for Grishook's heir? It is I. Only I have enough strength left to accomplish this task."

Harry wasn't so sure about that. The goblin looked like a strong breeze would blow him right into that pool of lava the goblin was regarding with such fondness. "In return for destroying part of my ancestor, I demand Grishook's line become stewards of this great boon the human give in return." He bowed with respect, although his words were hardly that of someone supplicating their leader.

Nagurk gnashed his teeth and growled. Finally, he spit and then replied. "Your line will be stewards of one root. No more!"

Grishook's heir bowed again. "The plate, then?"

Harry unwrapped the shirts before handing the plate, still covered by the cloth scrap, to the goblin. "Some things need destroying," was all he said, holding the plate far from him between a pinched finger and thumb.

Grishook's heir took it and began chanting in a guttural tongue, one Harry had never heard. It sounded like gobbledygook, but different. Older, and resonating with power.

The plate began vibrating in the old goblin's hands, till Grishook's heir had to use two hands to hold the bucking plate. His words came out in grunts, parted by panting breaths, growing in sound and force.

A great clap snapped through the cavern, deafening Harry. He covered his ears too late, and all of his muscles tensed when the goblin dropped the cloth-covered plate into the molten lava bubbling at his feet.

Steam hissed up into the air. Not white, pure steam, but black and menacing, creeping out toward its unmaker. Bill whipped his wand out, perhaps prepared to cast the horcrux transfer charm. If the horcrux reached the goblin, they'd have to kill it, and Harry doubted that would go over well with Nagurk.

Harry didn't know if the spell would work on loose soul-fragments, but it was worth a try. He worked his foot out of his shoe – a comfortable leather shoe that had belonged to his father – and tossed it between him and Bill.

As Bill opened his mouth to cast the spell, drops of metal started melting from the edge of the plate, and a piercing shrieked ripped and tore at them. Harry held up a hand to stop Bill – it was working.

Grishook's heir chanted steadily, his voice a shout, and the blackness threatening to enshroud him retreated from his form, one hair's breadth at a time.

The molten plate lost its shape, becoming a heap of metal slowly sinking into the lava. Black liquid spilled from it in gobs, its screams forming a curious counterpoint to the triumphant goblin's shouts.

Then, it was over. The plate disappeared from sight, and the black mist dissipated. The only thing left was grey smoke from the burnt cloth scrap filling their nostrils and stinging their eyes.

Relief coursed through Harry, and he breathed easily despite the smoke in his lungs. Only himself and Nagini left to go.

To be continued...


	61. Chapter 60

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

From the last chapter:

The molten plate lost its shape, becoming a heap of metal slowly sinking into the lava. Black liquid spilled from it in gobs, its screams forming a curious counterpoint to the triumphant goblin's shouts.

Then, it was over. The plate disappeared from sight, and the black mist dissipated. The only thing left was grey smoke from the burnt cloth scrap filling their nostrils and stinging their eyes.

Relief coursed through Harry, and he breathed easily despite the smoke in his lungs. Only himself and Nagini left to go.

Chapter 60

Harry waved a tired hand at Ollivander, Fred, and George in the Manor's apparition room. He and Bill had just gotten back from destroying horcruxes with the goblins. Hopefully Neville was still up; they had to get working on modifying and growing those roots. Even though the goblins wouldn't let them have long term use of the potato and yam strains they developed, they'd at least get to eat the test fields. Neville could always experiment with other potato strains

"Is it still Saturday or are we in Sunday yet?" Bill didn't bother to cover his mouth while he yawned.

Ollivander answered. "Early Sunday morning."

Harry looked back and forth between the twins and Ollivander. This was an unusual time for these three to leave on an expedition. "What exactly are you up to?" he asked Fred and George.

"Ollivander's hooking us up with a genuine dark mark. We need to key our potions to its magical signature." Fred shuffled through a pile of notes.

Harry blinked, surprised. He couldn't remember seeing either twin take notes, much less look at them later. This must be serious.

"Kingsley was right. The unbranded death eaters are going to storm the muggle bunker at the same time Tom springs his surprise for you." George's somber face shot a chill through Harry. If even the twins weren't laughing...

Fred rolled his notes into a scroll and slid them up his sleeve. "If we can key our base potion to the dark mark, that will be one more set of weapons we can use at Tom's party for you. Terribly rude of him to not send an invitation."

"Are you going to make the death eater's hair dance on end, then?" Harry grinned, remembering Hermione's bouncing curls. He heard Bill turn a snort of laughter into a cough.

George stepped forward and flicked an invisible piece of lint off Harry's shoulder. "Of course not, my good man. We have something much more interesting in mind."

Harry glanced down at his shoulder, then he narrowed his eyes suspiciously at George. "Give my hair back," he held out one hand.

Fred laughed and clapped George on the shoulder. "Can't do the same trick twice with this chap, can we?"

George sighed and dropped a tiny black hair into Harry's palm. "And I'd almost finished," he winked.

"Time to leave, boys. Our contact has only a few minutes to spare." Although Ollivander was smiling, his firm tone brooked no disobedience. The three stepped closer and apparated away.

Harry wasn't sure if he should try to burn the hair still resting in his hand. What if George had anticipated that? "What do you think he did to it?" he asked Bill. Surely as their older brother he would have some idea.

Bill edged away from Harry. "They never play the same trick twice unless they're getting ready to market it. How about you let me know when you find out?" And he strode through the door of the apparition room, leaving Harry wondering if George's trick was simply to make him stand here and wonder.

He placed the hair on the stone floor. "_Incendio!"_ The single hair burst into flames for but a moment, one tendril of smoke twirling around itself to form a lightning bolt in the air.

Shaking his head and smiling, Harry went in search of sleep for the few hours left of the night.

* * *

"_You're_ our contact!" Disgust and betrayal battled each other in Fred Weasley's voice.

Ollivander laid a hand on the twins' shoulders to stop them from apparating away. "Hush. I know he can be trusted."

They both subsided, George's protest dying on his lips.

"Impressive. That never worked in my class. Can I dare hope they've gained some...maturity since I last taught them?" Severus looked at the trio behind half-closed eyelids. Half closed to prevent them from reading the distaste in his eyes. Must he be invaded in his own home?

He'd never let Madame Pomfrey examine his dark mark, and now these whelps wanted to take magical readings from it?

Still, Severus's efforts against Voldemort were rather hampered by that never to be sufficiently cursed unbreakable vow he'd been forced to take. Severus rolled up his left sleeve to bare the dark mark for their innocent eyes to see.

He tried not to show his impatience as the twins took reading after medical reading from the area containing his dark mark. He had only minutes to get back to Voldemort. The wit sharpening potion lasted at best two hours these days, and four dosages a day was the maximum Severus was willing to risk. The increasingly enfeebled wizard required nearly around the clock care. No one else knew of the Dark Lord's condition, of course.

Severus was almost relieved that Potter's birthday was almost upon them. In less than five days, he might get some blessed sleep, even if it things turned out as he suspected and it was the sleep of the dead. At least he'd get to see Lily then. Apologize to her after all these years.

He gritted his teeth as the twins crowded closer, noses almost glued to his arm with intense scrutiny. Severus carefully didn't ask them their purpose. If it had anything to do with preventing Voldemort's rejuvenation... He cut that thought off when his breathing became labored. That unbreakable vow again.

"Are you finished poking and prodding?" he finally asked, fighting the impulse to pull back from them. Had they no concept of personal space?

"Not yet," one of them mumbled. "Is your mark identical to all the rest?"

"Yes," Severus bit out the word. Answering it came perilously close to betraying his vow. His lungs fought to expand, to bring in the air his body needed. He might have trouble breathing the rest of the night. But the next part he could add without compunction, and he took delight in twisting the words with sarcasm. "I hope you won't be disappointed to discover the Dark Lord himself does not have the mark."

The Weasley twins' faces both fell, as he'd expected

It was hard to differentiate between the two in the darkness of his hallway. He hadn't wanted to advertise his presence by throwing up a ball of light in case Bellatrix had this place under surveillance. Her jealousy of his close position with the Dark Lord was predictable. He didn't know how Rabastan tolerated her obvious fawning and flirtation with someone else, even if her attempted dalliance was with the Dark Lord.

Fred – or was it George? - jabbed his arm with his wand while muttering a nearly inaudible spell. Pain lanced through his dark mark, and Severus smothered a gasp. Green mist rose above his arm, coalescing into a snake spilling forth from a laughing skull's mouth. What had those two miscreants done? Did they realize they'd just alerted Voldemort to their meddling?

Severus whirled toward Ollivander. his hand knocking the twins' wands away in the process. They hardly seemed to notice, so absorbed were they with examining the dissipating skull in the air.

His only chance to avoid Voldemort's detection was with the aged wandmaker. "Do you have wood from a holly bush?" Severus whispered the question. With luck, Voldemort would be too distracted with his own tasks – something to do with Peter - to listen in through the now activated dark mark. Severus had to do something to create an alibi. The penalty for allowing someone to magically examine the dark mark was death. No exceptions. He still had work to do before Voldemort's rejuvenation.

Ollivander shook his head in the dim light trickling in from the moon outside. After rustling through his robes for a few moments, he held out a stick.

Severus grabbed it, hoping the old man knew what he intended, and he dragged it across the inky mark on his left arm.

He clamped his lips together, but despite his best efforts, a hiss escaped him when the wood touched his branded skin. What had Ollivander given him? That hurt far more than a plain holly branch would have. But the green skull was gone, his mark dormant again. He scraped the stick once more across his wounded arm for good measure, then tossed the stick to the side.

The twins had activated the dark mark and created a direct link to Voldemort, the fool children. Like amateur herbologists, playing with magical kudzu without containment charms. He started rehearsing his cover story. When Voldemort asked about it, as he most certainly would, he'd say his own magic must have been channeled through this stick when he'd bumped into it while out searching for the blasted tree the Dark Lord wanted.

Severus snapped his sleeve down, buttoning it as fast as his nimble fingers would allow. "I must leave. But what type of wood was that? I've never crossed its like."

"Hornbeam, the preferred tree of the unicorn," Ollivander stepped forward to stop his departure. "I understand Tom has put you in charge of finding the largest, oldest tree in Britain?"

Severus nodded. "It must be as wide as I am tall."

Ollivander and Severus stared at each other. Sympathy softened Ollivander's eyes, but Severus didn't want his pity. What would be, would be. He carefully didn't think about the implications of what Ollivander knew; this fact had only been discussed in the Dark Lord's office. Voldemort's home, now that he didn't dare use Malfoy's manor. They might discover his weakness; the use of surveillance spells in that place were both legendary and pervasive.

"The Forbidden Forest has such a tree, near the acromantula's lair. It should serve the purpose."

"And the monsters will prove a diversion for the death eaters. Hagrid should never have let that population get out of control like that. They breed like spiders." Severus raised his lip in a sneer to hide his relief that the Order would know the location where Voldemort planned to make his surprise for Potter.

Since he'd found no other suitable tree given the short time he had to search each day, his vow to Voldemort would allow him to suggest this. Severus nodded his head once in a rare acknowledgment of thanks to the older man, and apparated away.

He hurried through the antechamber to the Minister of Magic's office as soon as his feet materialized. He had minutes to usher out whoever was in the office before the wit-sharpening potion failed, and he had to do so without raising suspicions. Those blasted Weasley twins had delayed them, but their unique gift with potions could save their society as they knew it. If they could somehow capture all of the death eaters during a battle, no pleading of the _imperius_ curse could get them out of Azkaban.

Unless the ministry was corrupt, of course, as it often was.

He strode in without announcing himself, but stopped in his tracks once his saw what was in Narcissa's arms. A baby. He didn't dare look closely at that. One more person he couldn't save. One more person whose face he didn't want to have in his nightmares. At least she'd be easier to get out of this office than Wormtail.

Narcissa held the child close in protective arms. Why? Didn't she know the baby had less than a week to live? Still, she would ensure the child lived as long as Voldemort had need of it. Bellatrix would either forget the child or permanently damage it in a frustrated rage. The latter, most likely, since she had taken to stalking around the ministry like an unfed tiger prowls its cage.

"I see you have found the desired child," he said, coming to a smooth halt next to his Lord.

"Indeed," a predatory smile crossed Voldemort's face. It was good the child was so young, judging by the small bundle. An older baby would surely cry at the terrifying sight, ensuring its speedy demise. "My faithful death eaters have found the most powerful baby born in centuries."

Voldemort waved one hand over the child, and a bright, white light blinded Severus. He clamped his jaw shut to keep it from dropping. That amount of magic in an adult was remarkable, let alone a child. This baby would rival Merlin once grown.

Severus shaded his eyes from the light. The rarely used spell to show magical strength winked out. Technically the spell was a dark one, but only because its use had led to magical discrimination, and was thus banned in one of the Ministry's more enlightened moments centuries ago.

"We found the child in the highlands of Scotland," Narcissa's face softened when she looked down at the swaddled baby. "Lucius said the muggles gave no battle, not that they could have. They didn't know that, though. They dove for cover, leaving the child unprotected in the middle of the courtyard." Her lips twisted with disgust at the muggles' cowardice. "He was disappointed the task was so easy. He does like to play with his prey, you know. But bringing this little bundle out was more important." She cooed and played with its fingers.

Voldemort shooed her away with a gesture, and Severus escorted the witch out. He supposed she had trouble having children. That must be why she was practically drooling over this muggle child. She should be treating it with disdain. Her performance, her affection, would not go unremembered by Voldemort. But perhaps that was why he chose her to protect the child.

_Less than five days_, he reminded himself. _That's all I have to get through_. Between dosing Voldemort, caring for him, finding that tree, and directing the food procurement agents, he was more than exhausted. Tiredness pervaded every part of him.

Not getting three solid meals a day didn't help. That was reserved for the Dark Lord. Food was becoming more scarce as they cleaned the muggle hoards out. Even death eater families were considering using the draught of living death to escape. In their own, well-protected homes, of course. They weren't such dunderheads as to put themselves so obviously into their master's hand.

He nodded a polite dismissal at Narcissa in the antechamber. She hardly noticed him. He turned on his heel and made sure no trace of emotion flickered in his face, not even his desire for sleep. Then he stepped back into the Minister of Magic's office. _Did anyone still believe that__ farce? That the Minister was actually Alrick Armstrong?_

After forcing all such thoughts from his mind, he made eye contact with his Lord, and then he bowed low. "My Lord, I have discovered something vital while searching for the oldest tree. I snagged my sleeve on this rare wood," he held out the gnarled stick he'd pocketed. "It burns the dark mark itself," he showed his master the bright red wounds on the mark. No hint of branded flesh peaked through the injured flesh, as if the skin beneath weren't darkened from this man's perverted mark.

How odd, really, when he thought about it. Could the favored wood of the unicorn actually have some property that countered the dark mark, albeit painfully? He squashed the idea soundly. He couldn't afford to have Voldemort catch even a hint of that in his mind. Later. He'd investigate that later, if he made it through this.

Hopefully, the man in front of him, if he was still that, would believe the story. Where else would he find a stick of hornbeam, except deep in the woods where unicorns frequented?

Severus looked up then, to allow his master access to his hastily cobbled together memories. But instead of red eyes, he found himself staring at Voldemort's wand. _Yew_, he noted absently, his mind calm now that this moment had come.

The skin around Voldemort's eyes tightened as he examined the stick Severus proffered. "I'm afraid I can't allow you to know that, my most useful pet." Voldemort began.

Severus's heart jumped into his throat. Perhaps he'd be obliviated instead? A desire to live that he didn't know he had blossomed deep inside.

"But memory charms are so finicky, you see. I'm afraid you'd be useless to me after that. And I've got Peter to take care of me till Thursday. Then he'll die, too." He let out a high pitched laugh.

A chill ran down his spine. By the time he grabbed his wand, he'd be dead. Instead, he bowed his head, playing his role to the end. "As you wish, my Lord."

"You've been an adequate servant, Severus. I only wish that you'd had children to train up into my service. _Avada..."_

To be continued...


	62. Chapter 61

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling

From the last chapter:

_The skin around Voldemort's eyes tightened as he examined the stick Severus proffered. "I'm afraid I can't allow you to know that, my most useful pet." Voldemort began._

_Severus's heart jumped into his throat. Perhaps he'd be obliviated instead? A desire to live that he didn't know he had blossomed deep inside._

_"But memory charms are so finicky, you see. I'm afraid you'd be useless to me after that. And I've got Peter to take care of me till Thursday. Then he'll die, too." He let out a high pitched laugh._

_A chill ran down his spine. By the time he grabbed his wand, he'd be dead. Instead, he bowed his head, playing his role to the end. "As you wish, my Lord."_

_"You've been an adequate servant, Severus. I only wish that you'd had children to train up into my service. Avada..."_

Chapter 61

"_Avada..._" Hermione read from the parchment in front of her. Then she paused, drawing a deep breath. Harry, Ron and Ginny scooted close around her in Remus's tent, scarcely breathing.

"Get on with it, Hermione!" Ron tried to grab the parchment from her, but she batted his hand away. "I'm sure you've read half the page on your own by now!"

"If you would stop interrupting me, then I might not read so far ahead," she said, sounding as waspish as Madame Pince when she'd found a creased page in one of her precious library books.

Ron sat back, plopping down on the couch behind them. "Fine, fine, but you're killing me by drawing this out!"

Ginny laughed, then coughed to cover it. "_She's_ drawing this out?"

Hermione pointedly continued, "'_Avada_...kadabra?...Who are you...you've come to take me back to the orphanage, haven't you? Well, I won't go. I'm special! Nothing like the dirt you've collected there.'"

"'Let me take that stick from you, sir. I'm here to help you...,'" Hermione breathed deeply, a broad smile on her face. "That must be Snape now. I wish this could read in voices..."

"That man must be made of stone," Harry sat back against the couch, relieved that the Weasley twins' fiddling with the dark mark hadn't killed the man.

"Granite," Ginny agreed. "I wonder what was the deal with the hornbeam wood? Fred and George said it sounded like it burned him. They heard hissing and everything."

"Hornbeam, the tree unicorns prefer, must to be the opposite of the dark magic in the dark mark". Hermione said, scanning through sheets of paper. "Maybe that's why Tom was going to kill him – he discovered something crucial. Thank goodness the wit sharpening potion wore off when it did. The rest of this is nonsense. If he weren't so evil, I'd feel sorry for Tom. That's a horrible way to go."

"But he isn't planning to go that way." Harry pointed out. "We still haven't figured out what his plans are yet. It's so frustrating." He ran one hand through his hair, causing it to stick up wildly in all directions. "We have pieces, but that's it."

"At least we've got those pieces, Harry," Ginny said.

"Yeah, so now we know to bring a stroller with us to the fight for the baby." Harry looked down at his feet and tried to wrestle his frustration back inside. Getting angry wouldn't help.

Ron laughed at Harry's comment, then stopped when he got two elbows to the ribs for his trouble.

"Hardly funny, Ron." Hermione said glaring at him, with Ginny joining in.

"Funny or not, aren't we supposed go help Luna soon?" Ron changed the subject.

Ginny groaned. "You are, maybe. I've got to go to the kitchens. Blech!"

She waved goodbye when they parted ways, pausing to give Harry a smile before she turned to leave.

He smiled back, and the world seemed brighter as they trekked through the halls down to the nurse's station.

He poked his head in cautiously, blocking his friends with an arm while he did so. Expansion charms had been placed on the room, and the blast-ended screwt lay curled in on itself in one corner.

Harry couldn't blame it. The bears prowling around the middle of the room behind a weak metal lattice were enough to inspire terror in any animal. And in any human, if they didn't already know the flimsy cage been reinforced with magic.

At least, Harry hoped it was. He never knew, sometimes, with wizards and witches. "Bears, Luna? Really?" he asked. He'd heard they'd been brought in, but still…

Luna jumped at the sound of his voice, then looked up from her desk covered with papers and smiled. "I've always wanted one. Now I have three!"

"What happened to using the screwt?" Ron asked, scooting along the wall, placing as much space between him and the bears as possible.

Harry wondered if this sudden wariness on his friend's part had to do with the time Fred and George turned his favorite teddy bear into a spider. Definitely possible.

He found no shame in following Ron's example, though. With Luna, he never knew what might happen.

Once they stood next to the desks on the far side of the room, Luna explained. "We only have the one screwt, you see. We're saving the magical beast for the last test, just to make sure it will work on a magical human."

"But bears?" Ron asked, still keeping a close eye on them. He'd managed to slip into the corner furthest from the beasts.

Luna shrugged. "I know there's plenty of bears in Alaska, since my dad and I traveled there last summer. Did you know some muggles are so isolated they have to fly in supplies, since there are no roads? I wonder how muggles get brooms to work for them?"

"Brilliant, Luna," Hermione said, ignoring her last question. "If the spell doesn't work, at least we'll get some meat. There should be a lot of fat, too, since fall isn't far away."

Luna beamed at the compliment. "We can bring more back! My dad and I can make more trips to Alaska, since we've been there before."

Ron turned pale at that. "These are fine for now," his voice broke and he cleared it before continuing. "Shouldn't we be testing out your new spell? What's the incantation?"

"_Animus ligo,_" Luna said, tucking a strand of blond hair behind her ear. "But we have to focus on the connection between the body and soul while living."

"As compared to their connection while dead?" Hermione asked, raising a delicate eyebrow. "It would be rather horrifying to spend one's afterlife stuck in a moldering corpse."

"Exactly." Luna nodded, as if the gruesome possibility bothered her not a bit. "I've already cast the spell on the bear. I've christened this first one Petunia, in your Aunt's honor, Harry.."

Ron snorted. "Harry, you want to take a crack at the bear? That might make up for years of living with the Dursleys in one fell swoop."

"Ha, ha. And kill off my mother's protection spell, too." Harry wiped from his mind the images Ron's statement provoked when nausea threatened to rise into his throat. He was pretty sure that if the recent pact between his aunt and him strengthened the spell, antics like that would weaken it. To see if his thoughts did in fact affect the protection spell, and would quiet the nausea, he resolved to make sure his relatives received a healthy slab of bear meat if their experiment failed.

It worked. The nausea quieted in his stomach, then, and he shook his head. He didn't relish the thought of having to treat the Dursleys well all his life. Still, that was a small price to pay. Now if he could put some distance between him and them after this was all over, then he'd be happy.

His mind returned to the task at hand. If he couldn't perform the killing curse – not that he wanted to – who would?

Stump, thud. Stump, thud. Stump, thud.

Mad-Eye's uneven gait sounded outside in the hallway, and they all turned toward the door.. "I hear you have some bears that need killing?"

"If you can," Luna smiled up at him. "I thought we'd try this one, the girl closest to me. I've renamed her Bellatrix."

Harry grinned. Maybe they should have invited Neville to join in.

Mad-Eye raised his wand, but before he cast the spell, he said, "Now I know Barty Crouch showed you youngsters this spell when he was the defense teacher, but what you need to know is that you have to have a special dispensation to perform this spell, even in practice, from the ministry. As aurors did during the last war. This doesn't much matter now with Tom running that circus, but when this is all over, I'd hate to throw one of you into Azkaban for using it. If you're going to go hunting, use a sporting spell, like _reducto_."

They all nodded their agreement. Who wanted to damage his soul by killing this way, anyway? Maybe killing an animal didn't have the same effect, but Harry didn't want to test it.

"_Avada kedavra!_" Mad-Eye's gruff tones almost caressed the spell that must have saved his life numerous times.

Green light shot from his wand and encompassed Bellatrix the grizzly bear. Harry didn't realize he'd been holding his breath till it came out in a whoosh as the bear collapsed, eyes open and staring. Dead.

Madame Pomfrey, quiet till now, rose from her desk, hands wringing together till she reached the edge of the enclosure. "Our spell should have worked. Professor Vector, Miss Granger, and even Albus's portrait went over the runes and calculations!"

Luna went over to the nurse and patted her on the back. "We've done much better this time. It's good we didn't test it on ourselves."

"At least we'll have steak tonight," Ron said. "This way Ginny won't have to cast so many spells for dinner."

Ginny had been collapsing into bed exhausted every night. If Ron was concerned about her, that spoke volumes to Harry about how serious the bags under her eyes were. While the rest of them were gaining weight, able to eat their typical diet of fried whale meat, fish, and seaweed completely, she seemed to be the only one continuing to lose weight.

"There is that, and we can have real gravy from the drippings," Mad-Eye agreed, turning on his peg leg and walking out. He paused, framed in the doorway. "You know where I am if you need your spell tested again."

The door shut behind him, and they all turned and looked at each other. What now? This spell was supposed to be a crucial part in saving the sleepers in the Ministry of Magic, not to mention in the battle coming up on Harry's birthday.

"I can't think of anything else we can fix," Luna said after they sat in silence for several minutes. "All of this work, and my mother's spell still doesn't work." She looked away, but not before Harry saw the glistening of tears welling up in her eyes.

"Maybe you were right to begin with, Luna," Hermione said, scooting closer to the teary girl. "Maybe the spell just needs more power behind it."

"But we've reduced the power requirements by two-thirds through the efficiencies we introduced," Madame Pomfrey objected. "It should work!"

"A quidditch hoop reduced by two-thirds is still pretty tall," Ron said, shrugging. "Maybe, if Harry's wand works, then he'll be able to cast it on lots more people in a row."

"Before collapsing from exhaustion, you mean?" Harry asked. "Rather inconvenient on a battlefield."

"That's why we'll test the effect of the spell to see how long it lasts," Hermione said, setting her jaw with determination, "Every hour, we'll get Mad-Eye to cast that spell if we have to drag him out of bed in the middle of the night."

"So we can cast the spell before battle, maybe giving Harry enough time to recover." Ron nodded his appreciation of the idea.

"I'd guess we'd better try it, then." Harry said grimly. He didn't much like the notion of a spell that relied entirely on him to cast.

While Hermione pulled him to the side to teach him the spell, Ron ran off to retrieve Mad-Eye. Luna floated the dead bear over the cage and out the door, presumably up to the kitchens.

When they were all back, Harry found himself facing the second bear, a larger male with black fur Luna had named Dolohov. A snarl had rippled across Hermione's face for a split second when she'd found that out. She still had an account to settle with that death eater for the scar he'd given her in the Department of Mysteries.

Pushing all thoughts of revenge away, Harry began the spell. He closed his eyes and focused on the graceful movements Hermione had shown him: a figure eight lying on its side, punctuated with a sharp jab. She'd explained that the jab was of utmost importance; without it, the bear might find its soul trapped inside its body when it died of old age.

_Nothing like the thought of inflictin__g that kind of horror on something__ to motivate me._ Harry sniffed, eyes still closed. Was the air filling with the aroma of cooking meat already? Cooking, red meat? His mouth watered, and he swallowed. It must be a trick of his imagination. He pushed the thought away, pointed his wand in the bear's direction, and flowed into the spell, "_Animus ligo!"_

An iridescent, rose colored light draped itself over the bear before disappearing.

"That color is an excellent sign. Far more vibrant than we produced. Mr. Potter, how did that feel?" Madame Pomfrey asked, quill and parchment in hand.

Harry took stock of himself. "It took more out of me than a _lumos_ charm_, _but less than the blasting charms I used to cut loose the Dursley's house. With this wand, anyway."

"Then you'll be able to cast the spell on all the sleepers!" Luna bubbled, her hands clasped in front of her.

"Wait a minute, missy. We still have to test it," Mad-Eye said. Then after making sure they'd all stepped back, he cast the killing curse once more.

The green curse encircled the bear as before, but the rose-colored light fought with it.

"It's working!" Ron shouted, but too soon. Within seconds the green curse overpowered the rose spell, and the bear toppled to the ground as lifeless as the one before it.

They all stared at the dead bear, and an undercurrent of despair wove its way through Harry.

"Maybe I shouldn't have named him Dolohov," Luna whispered. "It's hard to save someone you really want dead."

"We'll rename the next one Bambi," Hermione said, turning to Harry and grinning.

He grinned back. Even he had heard of Disney's motherless fawn. "I don't know. It might have had something to do with that smell in the air, just before I cast the spell. Cooking meat!"

"That makes sense, Harry!" Luna said, perking up. "Ginny cast a scent spell on me, so the halls would smell like cooked bear meat. Sort of an advertisement for dinner, see, to get everyone excited."

"Well, it worked," Harry drew a hand along his chin ruefully. "I think I was a bit more excited about the bear dead than alive."

"Try it again, then." Moody said, stumping closer to the group. "And this time, Potter, think of all your friends who will die if you can't figure this out." He crossed his arms in front of his chest and stared at Harry. Not even his magical eye whirled in its socket.

Harry swallowed hard as Mad-Eye's words conjured an image of his friends' lifeless bodies lying in front of him. He nodded his agreement and prepared himself to cast the spell again. This time he concentrated on the pit of fear in his stomach and his desperate need to save his friends. The need to help, to protect that seemed to have become embedded in every single part of him. His people-saving thing, as Hermione called it. Warmth flooded through him as he thought, _maybe I really can save everyone. From this, anyway_

"_Animus ligo!"_

This time, the green light from Mad-Eye's _avada kedavra_ skittered off a bright, rose-colored shield, draining into the ground without gaining purchase.

Bambi stood on her feet looking back at the wizards and witches, very much alive.

"Yes!" Ron punched a fist in the air, setting off a celebration among them fit for winning the quiditch world cup.

Mad-Eye clapped Harry on the shoulder. "Well-done. Now we'll see how long this spell lasts. Every hour, till it dies."

With the warmth of that praise flowing through him, Harry turned to the blast-ended screwt and cast the soul-anchoring spell again. Another green burst of light shrouded the screwt for mere moments before disappearing.

"Too bad we're out of oranges," Ron said. "That had to be worth at least two."

They all laughed. Harry was surprised to feel the weight lifting off his shoulders. Fights with the death eaters would be even now.

Satisfied his work was done here, Harry's mind turned to their next task "Let's go get rid of my scar." He'd been delaying that till he'd helped prepare for the coming battle as much as he could.

If he didn't survive the horcrux removal process, he was sure Ollivander would be able to use his new wand to power the soul-anchoring spell, if no one else. Ollivander'd made the thing, after all.

* * *

Harry lay on his back on a hard oak table staring up at the library ceiling. There was no goblin-wrought plate to mess things up this time, so he ought to be all right. He kept telling himself that while at the same time trying to avoid remembering Hermione's description of how difficult it was to transfer a horcrux between two living things.

"All right, Harry. We're ready," Hermione said, voice tight with tension.

Harry turned his head to look at the table next to him. A large steel serving plate held a sleeping kitten, a black one Luna had given them. They'd debated about transferring the horcrux into a chicken or rabbit, but in the end settled on the kitten.. They couldn't eat kittens. At least, they hadn't stooped that low yet.

"Dragon skin gloves?" Hermione asked.

"Got it," Ron said, pulling a pair on.

"Basilisk fangs?"

"Here," Bill spilled their bag of fangs out next to the platter. The clatter rang through the quiet library.

"Metal underneath the rabbit for added permanence. We'd do wood otherwise," Hermione sounded like she was running through a mental checklist. Harry was grateful. If anything went wrong...his mind shied away from that thought. This had to be done. At least in the hands of his friends he had a chance of surviving. No one would put more of herself into this spell than Hermione.

"We already know the curses on Harry. I think we're ready. Madame Pomfrey will measure your vitals during the transfer." Hermione turned a serious gaze on Harry. "Ready?"

_No._ But he nodded, and then went back to staring at the ceiling, his eyes tracing patterns in the textured white paint above him.

_"Transfero animus secui ex hic ut illic!"_

Pain lanced through Harry's scar, and his hands clenched at his sides to prevent them from flying up to his forehead. He didn't want to do anything to cover the scar, to make it harder for the horcrux to be pulled out of him.

Seven more times Hermione chanted the spell, and the pain lancing through him seemed to split him in two. Unbidden tears leaked out the corner of his eyes, now shut against the pain. His hands felt warm and wet inside his fists. His fingernails were digging into his palms. He must have cut himself.

A low moan escaped him when she chanted the spell for the last time, the words gibberish to his ears as they pierced through the red haze of agony gripping him in a white-hot cocoon. His back arched off the table and the sounds from the room began to fade, as if they were coming from the far end of a long tunnel.

"It worked! Kill it, Ron!"

Harry couldn't feel joy. He couldn't feel anything. Not his fingers, not his toes, not his heart beating.

"His blood pressure is dropping below sustainable levels! We're losing him! Get me..."

Then all sound fled, taking the pain with it, and the light filtering through his eyelids disappeared.

To be continued...


	63. Chapter 62

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

From the last chapter

_A low moan escaped him when she chanted the spell for the last time, the words gibberish to his ears as they pierced through the red haze of agony gripping him in a white-hot cocoon. His back arched off the table and the sounds from the room began to fade, as if they were coming from the far end of a long tunnel._

_ "It worked! Kill it, Ron!"_

_ Harry couldn't feel joy. He couldn't feel anything. Not his fingers, not his toes, not his heart beating. _

_ "His blood pressure is dropping below sustainable levels! We're losing him! Get me..."_

_ Then all sound fled, taking the pain with it, and the light filtering through his eyelids disappeared._

Chapter 62

'_Harry? Harry? Can you hear me?'_

Harry heard the faint sound of Ginny's voice, as if it were bouncing off the dirt walls of a deep well he'd fallen into.

"I can't hear him at all over the knut net! He will wake up, won't he?" Ginny's worried tones filtered down into Harry's consciousness. "Maybe if we get Fred or George to make the super-sensitive necklaces again, it will work this time."

"No, dear. He just needs rest. His body will wake him up when he's ready. That he's breathing at all after that monstrous thing left him is a miracle. Give him time."

That must be Madame Pomfrey. Harry tried to open his eyes, but the heavy weights holding them closed frustrated his efforts. He tried to lift his arm then, to reassure Ginny he was all right, but it wouldn't move either, as if it had been wrapped in devil's snare.

Exhausted by the effort, he drifted back to sleep, this time swimming in peaceful dreams the like of which he'd never experienced before. Oh, he'd had good dreams in the past, but they'd always had a hard edge to them; he'd never regretted waking up.

But now, some time later, he did regret waking up, a pleasant dream skittering just out of reach by the time he opened his still heavy eyes.

Ginny sat next to the bed with one hand in his and smiled. A beaming smile, with only a hint of the tears and fear he'd heard earlier. He smiled back, content to lay there for a few minutes.

Unfortunately, Madame Pomfrey had other ideas. "The Boy-Who-Lived, indeed, Mr. Potter." She bustled over to the side of his bed and used her wand to check his health. "As I expected, a case of magical exhaustion. That hornbeam wood does seem to have magical properties, though. I'll have to research it once this is all over..." She scribbled some notes on parchment.

Harry reached one finger up and traced his forehead where his scar used to be. Smooth skin met his touch, although it was a bit warmer than the surrounding areas. He turned toward Ginny, who answered his unspoken question.

"The hornbeam can purify things tainted with evil on contact, although it burns." She shivered a bit and looked down at her own hand, at a line of bright pink flesh the width of a wand tip on her thumb.

"Your scar is gone, too? I thought that was from when you wrote in Tom's journal."

Ginny nodded. "When I jabbed myself with a quill and blood dripped on the journal, I accidently solidified a connection between me and diary Tom. Since it never healed entirely, like your scar, we tested the hornbeam on my hand before using it on you." She gave him a small, tender smile.

Warmth flooded through Harry, and he sat up and swung his legs over the bed, intending to wrap Ginny in a giant hug. But the room spun around him, and he put a steadying hand to his head instead. "I guess it makes sense. Unicorns can purify poison with their horns. Why couldn't their favorite tree purify evil? As long as I'm free of Tom, it doesn't matter if Dobby spit on me to make me get better."

"Nothing quite so drastic, Mr. Potter, I assure you." Madame Pomfrey said, tucking away the scroll she'd been writing on at her desk. "If you can, get on your feet and get some exercise. You'll need it later today, I'm afraid, if you're going to rescue the sleepers tonight with the rest of them."

"Tonight!" Harry exclaimed, looking back at Ginny. "How long have I been out?"

"Since Sunday night. It Wednesday, now. Wednesday morning. Your birthday is tomorrow."

Ginny's statement sent a tendril of dread running through Harry. How was he going to fight if he was as weak as a newborn?

Harry finished off the last of his chocolate bar, holding his hand up to forestall Ron's comments. He wanted to savor the rich sweetness melting over his tongue. He made a mental note to ask Ollivander if he could retrieve some cocoa plants for them after his birthday was over. One room of Potter Manor devoted to cocoa beans would make him a wealthy man, especially if Neville modified the plants.

Harry opened his eyes and grinned. He didn't care about the money, but an endless supply of chocolate would be worth it. Chocolate was used now strictly for medicinal purposes, of course, which was the only reason he'd gotten one bar from Madame Pomfrey's precious supply. Already he felt energy coursing through him, strengthening his muscles and quickening his mind. Ah, how he loved chocolate!

"All right, Harry Potter, you can stop gloating now." Hermione folded her arms across her chest and glared at him. "If you knew how much willpower it takes to stand and watch you eat that...civil wars have been started for less!"

"Only in starving countries," Ron pointed out. "And probably not even then. People killed, yes. Civil wars, no."

Hermione gritted her teeth. "I was trying to make a point, Ron-"

"And my point is that it's time to go," Bill walked up to their group. "Harry, we've got a chair marked off for you. Everyone else stands."

They all clambered down into the seventh compartment of Mad-Eye's trunk. Harry looked about him, surprised. The spare room he'd seen fourth year was filled with shelving. Deep shelving two people wide. Shelves no where near tall enough to sit up in. The thought of how claustrophobic that would be gave him a shudder. At least the sleepers wouldn't know about it.

Harry slipped past Neville and then Fred in the crowded aisle to take his seat. The only one in the room. He hated that, but he didn't know how much energy he'd need to cast the soul-anchoring spell on every sleeper. He had to conserve every bit of energy possible. If this mission was interrupted or they had to leave sleepers behind, at least they'd have some protection from immediate execution.

For several days, anyway. The soul-anchoring spell hadn't dissipated yet on either the last bear or the blast-ended screwt, thankfully. But they still didn't know how long it would last. A week, a month, a year, or a lifetime?

Harry was hoping for the last option. He glanced down at the tan wand in his hand, the new one given him by Ollivander. Hope rose in his chest. If the spell lasted a lifetime, then he'd gladly cast this spell on everyone left on earth, guarding their lives with this wand and his magic.

He could think of nothing better.

* * *

Arthur waited a few minutes after the last wizard disappeared into the trunk, and he wished Alastor had purchased the shrinking feature on it. If this operation went south with his son, he'd much rather have that trunk in his pocket. He could always apparate away if Percy alerted the ministry to his presence.

That thought brought bile into his throat. That Percy would put the Ministry above family...he wondered again where he and Molly had gone wrong with their son. So quick to do what he thought was right, but so foolish in how he adhered blindly to authority, with no ability to discern good from evil.

Hopefully that would change tonight. Even Percy couldn't countenance the slaughter of helpless sleepers in his charge. Arthur patted the packet of parchment in his pocket, copied from the originals still in Lupin's tent.

Holding onto the trunk with a tight grip, Percy's watch in his other hand, Arthur said, "Percy Ignatius Weasley," and the portkey whisked him through colored bands of light and dumped him on the floor in Percy's flat.

He should be in Percy's bedroom, anyway. Arthur looked around at the dim shapes in the room. A sliver of light shone through a gap in the window curtains, and it was enough for him to see his son's sleeping form.

Well, not sleeping anymore.

"Whhwh?" Percy groped for the wand on his nightstand.

"It's me, Dad," Arthur whispered, squinting his eyes into the bright light from Percy's wand. "We've got to talk."

"Talk? It looks like you're on the run," Percy nodded at the trunk at Arthur's feet. "Are you finally rid of that law-breaking Order? I knew they brainwashed you!"

"Er," Arthur looked down. Percy's hand still pointed at the Ministry. "Not exactly. I found some frightful papers, actually, and I need your help, son."

Arthur looked straight into Percy's eyes, hoping he conveyed both love and concern. How could he reach this red-haired boy in front of him? He wanted his son to be a part of this mission. He didn't know if Percy would ever forgive him if his own father stunned him in order to steal the people under his care.

Even if it was for a good cause.

The hand on the watch flickered away from its steadfast position for a moment, and excitement tightened Arthur's throat, making it difficult to get the next words out. "Professor Flitwick helped me draw out the voices recorded on the parchment, so we could identify the speakers. I had to come as soon as I could once I heard this. It involves you,"

Percy raised one eyebrow in disbelief, but let Arthur continue.

Arthur tapped the page once, and voices spoke from the page.

"'That Weasley boy will make a nice front for us,'" Bellatrix Lestrange cackled with glee. "'The more sleepers we get, the more hostages we'll have to use against Potter!'"

"'Indeed,'" Alrick Armstrong's voice rang loud and clear through the cramped bedroom. "'The brat will not dare make a move once we start killing them.'" A high pitched laugh rang out. "'I'd say a few dozen ought to do the trick. Bellatrix, please send in Severus after you leave. I need a report on my death eaters.'"

Arthur tapped the parchment again, cutting of Bellatrix's groveling reply. Arthur flipped to the next page, keeping a close eye on his son from the corner of his eye._ Surely his honor and goodness will come through! If only he'll believe me. _"I have several more conversations, all similar. Some with more details; you can look at them if you'd like."

Percy pulled the parchments out of Arthur's hands so fast they almost ripped. He flipped through one, then another, till he'd read all of the conversation. His face grew progressively paler, and his Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed hard.

"How do I know this is true? What if you're trying to trick me into siding with that crazy boy you follow? I won't have part with his foolishness!"

Knowing his son was desperately grabbing for straws as his neat and orderly understanding of the world began to crack, Arthur was able to ignore the insults, to strike at what he hoped was the heart of this problem with his son. "I'm your father, Percy. I love you just as much as my other sons. Do you think I would try to trick Bill or Charlie this way?"

Taken aback at the direct approach, Percy shook his head, no response coming out. His lips trembled for a moment, then tightened.

"Then I'd never do it to you. I didn't come here to try to rein you in. I came to you for help, knowing you'd never let innocent people you're in charge of be slaughtered as part of some chess move!"

Percy closed his eyes, and drew one hand over his face. "You have a listening spell planted in his office, don't you? The prime minister never leaves it these days. He's become legendary. You're lucky you found me home tonight this early. We've all been working long hours."

Arthur pushed away the horrifying thought of landing in the middle of the lounge at the ministry while Percy took a butterbeer break. How many off-duty aurors would have pounced on him?

"We'll count our blessings then. And you're right about the spell." Arthur tried not to hold his breath. He hated giving that much information away. What if this place was under surveillance? The conversations in his hand seemed to indicate otherwise; Percy's dedication to the ministry was something of a laughingstock amongst the death eaters. They hadn't bothered with Percy, finding him a useful tool instead.

But still, that didn't mean some enterprising young death eater hadn't done so. Up till what Arthur had just said, things could have been blown off as a ruse, cruel though that would be.

Percy let his breath out in a loud whoosh, as if he were about to take a plunge he knew could end in death, his or someone else's, and handed the sheaf of papers back to Arthur. "How can I help, then?"

Arthur glanced down at the watch he still held. Percy's hand had swung away from the ministry to land squarely on family. Arthur wrapped his son in a hug and began explaining.

* * *

Harry slunk behind Percy at the ministry, his invisibility cloak almost getting caught in the lift doors when Percy took too long to maneuver the trunk in. Arthur had disappeared back inside it with the rest of the Order, but Harry had stayed outside Mad-Eye's trunk after Arthur's explanation back at Percy's flat.

He was their backup plan, in case Percy had an attack of conscience, as misplaced as that would be.

But Percy had performed brilliantly so far, striding through Ministry halls with an air of importance, gabbing to the few they passed about how he was finally going to be the first in to work this morning in his department.

How believable.

They came to a halt outside the old Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. The door's window had been covered with black cloth, no doubt affixed with a permanent sticking charm. Tom wouldn't want naïve Ministry employees able to see what really happened in there as they passed by.

Percy had been told that black cloth was to block out the hall light, allowing for a more comfortable sleep. As if light would bother someone dosed with the draught of living death!

Two guards, aurors Harry hadn't met before, blocked their way.

"This is early, even for you, Mr. Weasley."

Harry held his breath. Would Percy give them away? His hand tightened around his already raised wand. He was pretty sure he could take these two down, but if Percy called for help...

Percy nodded down at the trunk he'd dragged behind him. "We've got an interview with the _Prophet_ tomorrow. I've spent galleons to make these rooms look more...homey. You know how the minister wants to protect all the wizarding population. Who knows what raiding bands of muggles will do if they run across wizards and witches dosed with the draught in their homes? We must gather them all in," he finished, looking down his nose at the other two.

The second auror came close and reached a hand out toward the trunk as if he wanted to inspect it.

A stunning spell sat on Harry's lips. He'd use the continuous one, and get all three with one sweep. Arthur could apologize to Percy later.

Percy pulled the trunk close, "I have hundreds of things to arrange. Potted plants, doilies. It's going to take me all day. I could sure use a few extra wands..." He trailed off, clearly inviting the guards inside the room.

Harry bit his cheek in an effort to stay quiet. Would they fall for it? They needed all the time they could get before the alarm was raised.

Both aurors quick-stepped to the side.

"We can't leave our posts, I'm afraid," one said.

"I'm sure you'll have help come in later. Weren't you supposed to get an assistant?" asked the other.

"Supposed to," Percy said, curling one lip up in a wry smile. "You know how it is. Everyone wants the glory of gathering food for us. No one understands the important role this Ministry is playing in protecting each person in our society." The pompous statement had the aurors' eyes glazing over.

Percy swept through the door, the perfect image of self-importance, while Harry scampered through after him, making sure he pulled his cloak through before the door shut on it.

After casting a locking charm on the door, Percy opened the trunk and people spilled out. They kept the light dim, and perhaps that was better. Harry couldn't stop the spark of anger igniting in his chest from what he could see about the haphazard way these people had been tossed over any available surface.

Harry winced when he saw the sharp angle in a little brown-haired boy's neck. It didn't matter if this was a magical sleep – he was going to wake up with one big cramp above his shoulders.

Shaking those thoughts away, Harry began with the children closest to him. Over and over, he cast the soul-anchoring spell, slowly moving ahead of the extraction team. At least this spell was only two words, unlike the horcrux transfer ritual.

He grinned to himself when he remembered once again that he was horcrux-free, then he willed his arm to move faster. He had to get to everyone. His protection spell was their fail-safe.

* * *

One by one Minerva's tiny stick dolls became life-size, unbreathing bodies. They weren't perfect, by any means. She needed far longer for that. But this ought to fool the most cursory examination. Judging by how people had been dumped in here, that was more than it got on a regular basis. What was that Percy Weasley was thinking when he allowed that? She shook her head - she was too quick to blame the boy she'd had such high hopes for. Most likely he'd been handling the paperwork, while others transported the sleepers to their holding place.

Percy excelled at paperwork.

Hours passed till the sun was just coming over the horizon, sending its orange rays in through the one, tiny window in this cramped place – it was not covered in black cloth - when Minerva transfigured the last inanimate body. She swung her beaded bag with the leftover stick dolls inside it over her shoulder and followed the trail of floating bodies.

Flitwick had trained this team well, and she nodded her approval at the Weasleys and Remus. They passed bodies off to the next person in line like an old-time fire brigade passed sloshing water buckets.

Mr. Potter – Harry – joined her then, looking rather pale and unsteady on his feet, but pleased. That boy always did try to do too much. She gestured to him to precede her down the ladder into the trunk. She was not going to allow any opportunity for mischief to happen to him. Merlin knew, trouble found him readily enough.

Besides, this way she could catch him with a hover charm if he slipped.

As she clambered down the ladder herself, leaving only Arthur, Percy, and their return portkey behind, she wished Madame Pomfrey had some chocolate for them.

They would need all the help they could get tonight if they were going to stop Tom.

To be continued...


	64. Chapter 63

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

From the last chapter:

_ Mr. Potter – Harry – joined Minerva then, looking rather pale and unsteady on his feet, but pleased. That boy always did try to do too much. She gestured to him to precede her down the ladder into the trunk. She was not going to allow any opportunity for mischief to happen to him. Merlin knew, trouble found him readily enough._

_ Besides, this way she could catch him with a hover charm if he slipped._

_ As she clambered down the ladder herself, leaving only Arthur, Percy, and their return portkey behind, she wished Madame Pomfrey had some chocolate for them._

_ They would need all the help they could get tonight if they were going to stop Tom._

Chapter 63

Harry bobbed in the mist of the tree root system. One hand steadied himself against the scratchy inner bark of a tree trunk, while the other clutched Madame Longbottom's arm tightly. She'd insisted on being second in line just after him. Ollivander was at the other end of the long chain of people. The plan was to split into two groups once half of them piled out of this tree.

He put an eye to the bark again, as he had every minute since their arrival. No one had apparated in yet. Tom didn't plan his surprise till sundown, both in East Anglia at the military bunker and here. _At least Snape took our suggestion about where to have this party,_ Harry thought, bitterness lacing his thoughts as he remembered his own birthday was the catalyst for this _party_.

Harry wished Voldemort didn't have such a keen sense for magical residues and ambushes. If they could use the twins' new potions to set magical traps on or near the smoothed tree stump just a few paces from where Harry now floated, victory would be almost inevitable. At least Kingsley didn't have to worry about that. The lower-echelon death eaters were less than well-trained. And none of them possessed Voldemort's uncanny nose for traps.

At least even Voldemort couldn't sense people floating in a tree. Thankfully.

Harry surveyed outside the tree trunk again. The surface of the stump in front of him must have been polished, since it reflected the orange and pinks of the dying sun. Next to it sat a cube of steel, edges rough and slivery from a recent cut. It wasn't quite a yard wide, he guessed.

The tree stump, though. That was mammoth – as tall as a man in his prime.

As the sun began to sink below the western horizon, casting deeper and darker colors across the Forbidden Forest, adrenaline pumped through Harry. He struggled to keep his limbs still. How he wanted to pace! But that would endanger those around him. All of their lives depended on an unbroken chain down to Ollivander. He decided to keep his ear nestled against the inner tree instead. He'd hear when they apparated in.

Harry concentrated on breathing in through his nose, then out through his mouth. He had to remain ready to act, but not so tense he'd do something stupid.

Pops as loud as gunfire assaulted his ear, and Harry squeezed Madame Longbottom's arm. She'd be sending the signal down the rest of the line.

This time Harry used both eyes to watch. Standing tall and strong, Tom stood in the middle of a circle of cloaked and masked death eaters. Nagini hissed and slithered down from her place around his shoulders, winding through her master's feet before settling into a coil.

Harry sent three squeezes back down the line to let Neville and Bill know the snake was here. He then patted his free hand at his waist, where a long dagger lay. They'd found three goblin-wrought weapons at the Manor and had coated them with the basilisk venom they had left.

Tom, not drooling at all now, raised his hands and began to speak. "The time has come for a new era, one of unsurpassed power, devotion, and loyalty to me. Forever."

Harry squinted. Was Tom's hand trembling, just a bit? Both Snape and Wormtail, on either side of Tom, moved a step closer. "I now give myself a new body, one where I will add my own magical power to the original inhabitant's. I will be unstoppable."

Severus, at Voldemort's side, didn't cheer along with the rest of the death eaters. He didn't know why the Dark Lord had spent all of his spare, cognizant time closeted away with Peter the last three days, and that left him wary and disquieted. He suspected even the Order didn't know, since the two had literally been in an expanded closet attached to the Minister of Magic's office.

Again he puzzled over the fact that Peter, that odious and bumbling rat, had Voldemort's trust. It couldn't possibly be because he'd sought the Dark Lord out after he'd escaped when that never-to-be-sufficiently-cursed werewolf forgot to take his potion.

Severus forcefully pulled his mind back to the present, the growing chill in his bones alerting him to unexpected guests. Two dementors. Whose souls were they going to feed on tonight?

All excitement and cheer drained away from the death eaters around him, and the baby in Narcissa's arms began to wail. Irked, Severus wondered what bad memories a new infant had to drown in. Memories of hunger, thirst, and wetness?

Narcissa bounced the baby in her arms, trying to shush it around her own terror for the child. Severus could tell by how tight her voice was, how she clutched the infant to her with trembling arms, that more than the dementors affected her.

"Let it enjoy its last cries," Voldemort commanded. "Place it on the steel, then petrify it, Narcissa. But make sure you leave the head able to move. A baby's cries are music to my ears."

Disgust roiled through Severus. He was sure that had been the case since Voldemort was a child. But still, he kept his face impassive. Now was not the time to show weakness.

He heard Bellatrix's angry hiss, and he knew that was directed at the two lone tears rolling out from under Narcissa's mask as she followed the Dark Lord's orders.

Voldemort raised the yew wand in his hands. "Your task, my loyal followers is to bear witness of my rebirth, as you did last time. Peter."

The last word seemed a signal, but of what – Severus's limbs snapped together, his whole body petrified by the spell Wormtail must have cast behind their Lord's back.

Laughter filled the air, then cheers, despite the circling dementors.

Severus's eyes darted around the clearing, looking at the jeering smiles, the collection of crooked, yellow teeth grinning at him, and for a moment he was transported back to Hogwarts. To the torment and Gryffindor bullies. Hate flooded through him. Of course his fellow death eaters were delighted to see his fall from grace from the position they had so coveted for themselves. Idiots that they were.

He wanted to bare his teeth in a snarl, but with his mouth locked in place, he couldn't. Goosebumps ran over his skin when he felt Nagini's heavy weight slither over him and the snake's hissing tongue on his face. He held his breath, the only thing he could do to prevent the snake from striking, as pitiful as that attempt was. Severus berated himself. He hadn't even had his hand on his wand when he fell, else he might be able to get out of this through wordless magic.

"Severus, my faithful servant."

Severus looked up into strangely compassionate eyes. How could red eyes show any other emotion than rage?

"You've served me well, first with the death of Dumbledore and then later." Voldemort didn't mention his debilitating disease. The death eaters, including Peter, still didn't know about that. "You will now be rewarded. Your body will serve as my host, and this child as my heir. My future partner. His power, so strong now as a babe, will surpass even Dumbledore's at his peak. We will rule the world."

The Dark Lord turned away, and Severus felt himself floating, his body banged against the side of the tree stump. For a moment, his cheek ground into a twig poking out from the trunk, its lone green leaf falling to be trampled on the forest floor. Then his body rested on the hard, smooth surface of the tree stump. Terror clawed at his throat, and he could do nothing to swallow the bile entering his mouth.

Peter's gloating face came into view, centimeters from Severus's, and the rat whispered, "I am His true, right hand! Only I have been loyal for so long! Only I was favored with the Dark Lord's tutelage as a child, when He snatched me from the very same orphanage He graced with His presence." He turned and spat to the side. "You always fought the Gryffindors, while I undermined them from within. They never guessed that p-p-poor, p-pitiful Peter had been sent to take them down from within."

Severus did the only thing he could. He rolled his eyes.

Peter squeaked, infuriated. He shoved his face closer, his fetid breath fouling the air between them. "It worked. Look where I am now."

Kingsley crouched, waiting for the tell-tale pop of death eaters apparating into the bunker. They had a fighting chance now that Harry had cast that rose spell on them all, muggle soldiers included.

He was just thankful Augusta had manhandled that boy back to bed afterward. Magical exhaustion was nothing to play with, and none of them minded Harry eating the last of the chocolate. They'd give a lot more than that for the protection they now enjoyed.

He peered around the corner, the empty white corridor in front of the central meeting room coming into view. He'd had to bring the Prime Minister of Britain in to convince their special forces to work with him. The slight movement of clothes against his skin as he settled back into position felt wrong – no robes brushed against his arms, and the crisp, starched muggle uniform felt stiff and unwieldy on his body.

A soldier crept up behind him. Was Smith his name? It didn't matter. "Sundown...sir." the man reported. The hesitation was typical. Kingsley hoped the feeling behind it didn't get them all killed.

Kingsley and his men had set their first trap carefully, reeling in the food acquisition agents from the ministry, cache by small cache. Then, they'd carefully allowed one to agent escape after he heard the location of all the food left in Britain: this bunker.

Pop! Pop! Pop!

The bursts of sound echoed over the loud speaker throughout the entire installation. Thank goodness the military had protected this bunker against EMPs. They'd had the speakers in every room set to pickup and broadcast every sound. A hard smile crossed Kingsley's face, and the soldier next to him paled, but Kingsley paid him no mind.

Instead, he sent one word through the knut net, as they were now calling the Weasley twin's invention. '_Now!'_ he commanded. Mentally shouted, actually, since the twins had tweaked the system to prevent stray thoughts. Each of the aurors he'd captured at the Lovegood's crazy house responded with an affirmative. Within moments, anti-apparition charms would snap into place. There were no fireplaces down here. The death eaters would be trapped.

Adrenaline shot through him, and he thrilled in the hunt ahead. With all nonessential personnel evacuated, including the Prime Minister, they could focus on eradicating this plague on the world.

More spells than _avada kedavra_ could kill, after all. But first, they had to carefully herd the death eaters into their trap without alerting them to that fact. Since they no doubt would find it strange to have a clear path to the food warehouse, the death eaters would find their pathway blocked in carefully, pre-arranged places designed to encourage them in the right direction.

Soft footfalls down the corridor alerted Kingsley, and he nodded to the soldier next to him. Kingsley then rolled out into the hall, his spinning gaze catching sight of a white mask and black cloak. "Shoot!" he shouted, trying to make his voice higher than his normal baritone. He didn't want to give the game up yet.

He rolled to a stop as machine gunfire exploded over his head, forcing the death eater in front of him to throw up a shield. Even bullets killed wizards if they managed to make it past the wizard's magic.

For a moment, Kingsley was tempted to cast the killing curse at him. That pitiful _protego_ shield had no hope of stopping it, and he aimed his wand. The minister had approved its use for aurors again, just like in the last war. Granted, the minister was Voldemort himself, and the goal was to kill people rebelling against his regime, but still...

He froze, torn by temptation to descend to this death eater's level, but for only a moment. Then he flicked his wand upward and transfigured the ceiling into a mirror, casting the strongest stunner he could after it. The spell cleared the lip of the shimmering shield in front of the masked death eater, striking him in the shoulder. He fell in a slump to the floor.

The gunfire petered to a halt.

Kingsley nodded with satisfaction, removing his wand and wrapping him from neck to foot in rope, silencing, petrifying and casting a disillusionment charm on him for extra measure before shoving him into the closest office. He'd make sure this miserable sod got a trial, and then he'd move heaven and earth to get the death penalty reinstated.

"Enjoy your last days on earth," he whispered before whirling away. The smarter ones would be traveling in twos and threes. '_One down,'_ he reported and he turned on his heel and jogged down the hall to the next juncture. Once the death eaters had apparated in, they'd go on foot to their target. Likely Peter had infiltrated the bunker in rat form, then given the memory to the others via pensieve. A rat's memories wouldn't be good enough for tight battle apparition, making the pickings easier for Kingsley and his aurors.

As Kingsley made his way to next hallway, muggle soldier behind him, other reports poured in over the knut net. Four death eaters down, one muggle soldier unconscious, with no more death eater sightings on the outskirts of the bunker. They were done with picking off the death eaters who'd apparated poorly using Pettigrew's second-hand information.

"Not yet, Mr. Potter," Neville's grandmother cautioned.

She'd slipped up into the narrow spot next to Harry inside the misty tree trunk, and he felt the heat radiating from her. She'd cast the disillusionment charm on herself. They all had, except for him. He had his dad's cloak on.

Snape had been tossed onto the tree stump, and Peter was gesticulating over him. Harry was sure spittle was flying from the little man's mouth, and he winced in sympathy.

The one eye Harry had pressed against the inside of the trunk flitted back and forth between the tree stump and the metal block, one figure lying on each. Had all of their guesses been wrong? This didn't look like a sacrifice. It looked like Voldemort planned a horcrux transfer.

Harry clenched his free hand against the tree trunk. That didn't make sense! Neither Snape or the baby had a horcrux in them! Tom couldn't be transferring one between the two of them!

Then Tom took two sticks off the forest floor and transfigured them into two, flat boards. He placed one on the ground under his feet, and the other underneath his pet snake. As Voldemort grounded himself in preparation to become part of the ritual, all became clear to Harry.

There wasn't going to be one horcrux transfer tonight. There was going to be two! Tom's soul didn't belong in that body; it could be transferred like the rest of his soul-fragments. In between one breath and the next, Voldemort's plan crystallized in Harry's mind. Snape was lying on wood, which according to Hermione meant the horcrux transfer would be temporary. Nagini's horcrux would be put in Snape, then transferred later to something else when Tom grew up.

Because Tom planned to put his soul-fragment into the most powerful baby he could find. The slab of steel underneath the child was a testament to that. He could still hear Hermione's lecture on the differences between wood and metal in this process, the lecture that had happened before their goblin-wrought plate debacle. The stronger, more permanent transfer would be to the baby.

And the dementors were there to steal their souls, allowing the soul-fragment to gain an easier purchase in the bodies.

Horror filled him, and his muscles ached with tension. He had to stop them! Tom would be at his weakest during the transfer, and there was no chance he'd let his inner circle see that. Harry had to get beside that tree stump before he was blocked out with everyone else.

He jumped through the tree, invisibility cloak flapping with the sudden motion, breaking Madame Longbottom's hold on him in the process. Just five or six steps, and he'd be close enough.

Harry scrambled over stray boulders in his way, and landed with light feet between the Snape and the baby. Crunching footsteps following him, the sound almost drowned out by the noise of death eaters' cheers and excitement. He glanced over his shoulder, and saw bracken shift and move as someone invisible walked over it.

Madame Longbottom must have followed him.

Just in time. Tom raised his wand over his head and invoked an unfamiliar phrase in Latin. A bright dome snapped into place over them, just missing Neville's grandmother, judging by the nearly inaudible hiss. Then blackness dripped down and swirled along it, hiding the death eaters and any possible rescuers from view. Only Harry, Peter, Voldemort, two dementors, Snape, the baby, and Madame Longbottom were left inside.

Harry took a deep breath, trying to decide what to do next, and his eyes met the watchful ones of the baby next to him. The baby boy had stopped crying, at least Harry guessed the baby was a boy, since it was wrapped in a blue blanket that had slipped down. Auburn curls wreathed the baby's head. It was so tiny it couldn't be more than a few months old.

Its light blue eyes struck a familiar chord in Harry, which he found strange. He didn't know much about babies, but this one seemed too small to have anything other than a darker, newborn blue color. The baby squinted in Harry's direction. It was almost as if the baby could see Harry under his cloak! He shook that absurd thought away, then stopped, his memory of the Portrait Dumbledore's talk with Snape flooding back. This child – the most magical one in Britain, just happened to have light blue eyes before it should and red hair?

It couldn't be a coincidence. This baby must be Albus Dumbledore, and his soul was about to be ripped out while that tiny bundle became Voldemort's next body. Visions of a new world-wide holocaust from a now truly immortal Voldemort wearing the face of his beloved mentor filled Harry's mind, and dread gripped his heart.

To be continued...


	65. Chapter 64

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

From the last chapter:

_ It couldn't be a coincidence. This baby must be Albus Dumbledore, and his soul was about to be ripped out while that tiny bundle became Voldemort's next body. Visions of a new world-wide holocaust from a now truly immortal Voldemort wearing the face of his beloved mentor filled Harry's mind, and dread gripped his heart. _

Chapter 64

_That Augusta Longbottom! _Minerva thought as she grabbed hold of the inner tree trunk and flattened her face against it. _Impulsive as a first year! Now if only we were lucky enough that her abominable bird hat fell off-_ Minerva hated the beady eyes on that thing, so real, as if it were watching her, waiting to peck her own eyes out. Then her gaze settled on the image in front of her. A pulsing black dome covered the ground in front of the tree, with streaks of swirling light running through it, and she had to bite her tongue to prevent her shock from bursting out.

Voldemort had recreated the impenetrable ward that encircled Hogwarts! He'd perverted it of course. She wasn't sure if his magic was capable of creating something so pure, or if he wanted that swirling blackness to hide what went on inside.

In any case, they had to travel to a tree opposite this newly made clearing. The death eaters were on the other side, and the Order stood a better chance of succeeding if they ambushed them from the behind. Minerva didn't glance again at the dome writhing with magical energy. They had no hope of breaking that before the air ran out inside.

The dome would only fall if its caster took it down or died, a fact she'd not shared with anyone. She had no wish to have a target painted on her back. But surely Voldemort realized it now that he could create one of his own. And if whatever that madman was doing inside that dome failed, only his faltering body would die. He'd flee in spirit form, living a half life once more till he found something to possess.

Everyone else inside would die unless Harry managed to kill Voldemort and his last remaining horcrux, Nagini.

Minerva prayed as she never had before that Voldemort had brought Nagini into that circle with him.

Then she turned, having absorbed the scene in a few, lightning quick seconds and began barking out orders. "Ollivander, we have to get to the other side of the clearing as soon as possible to come at the death eaters from behind." She paused, throat tight. "There are no trees inside the barrier Tom has created. Just the stump."

Minerva heard Ollivander's faint agreement. He was at the end of the line of fighters, in the tree's actual roots, not the trunk. She strained to hear his response. Was that an admonition to hold on tight?

Minerva clenched her hand around Molly Weasley's, just in time. Her body jerked forward and then whipped from side to side like the tail end of a snake. Slivers from the edges of the tree embedded themselves in her arms when she bounced off them, and her stomach sent rebellious protests when her body shrunk abruptly as she transitioned into the root system, still careening off walls.

Bile rose in her throat, but she swallowed it. She doubted vomit on a person could be disillusioned. If nothing else, the smell would give them away. Thankfully, the matriarch in front of her kept a tight hold on Minerva's hand in return.

Now she knew why Ollivander traveled so slowly through the root system.

The line of witches and wizards came to a halt, and Minerva had to push hard with her free arm against Molly's back to keep her face from smashing into the larger woman's back. Despite the awkward angle, Molly's grip stayed tight. Thank Merlin.

One by one the fighters spilled out of this new trunk, Ollivander shoving each one through. Minerva blessed Arthur's foresight in having everyone disillusioned in advance. That would save more than one life, she had no doubt.

When her turn came, the wandmaker wished her luck.

"You're not coming?" She asked, surprised, despite the fact she needed to get out into the battle herself.

He shook his head. "All I know is an innocent man is about to lose his life." He placed a hand against the inner bark of this new tree across the clearing. "That's all I know. I _must_ try to save him."

Minerva nodded, then let the wandmaker propel her out of the tree. She was going to be glad when the knut net worked again and they could coordinate their movements. Something about traveling by root system interfered with it. She burst out of the tree and a cacophony of sound washed over her.

* * *

Kingsley kept one hand on the soldier as they crept through the bare halls of the underground bunker. _Poynter,_ Kingsley reminded himself. _His name's Poynter, not Smith._ Using the proper name in battle might make a second's difference.

He'd disillusioned both of them, although Poynter had grumbled about reloading his semi-automatic gun when he couldn't see it. But Kingsley knew better. That man could strip his gun down and reassemble it blindfolded in under two minutes flat. Loading bullets in it while disillusioned was child's play for him.

'_INCOMING!_' Claxton mentally shouted from some other part of the bunker, and Kingsley whirled. Nothing. Still, he shot red stunners down the hallway, performing a complicated pattern to reveal any death eater smart enough to disillusion themselves. No thump of a body hitting the floor sounded in the hallway, and Kingsley sighed. Only Claxton shouted everything he thought.

A mirror appeared at the end of the hall he'd just shot his stunners down, and Kingsley swallowed a groan. He'd lost the edge of surprise. He jerked Poynter down on the floor with him, all the while gauging the angle of the incoming green spells splashing uselessly over their heads.

The death eaters must be getting worried. They were already pulling out their ultimate weapon they thought no one could stand against, even though each _avada kedavra_ cost them a considerable amount of magical energy.

Maybe they had chocolate.

Kingsley vowed to search their unconscious bodies. That could be useful.

He leaped to his feet and sent a focused stream of brilliant white light straight back to where the green spell came from, taking special care to bounce it at just the right angle off the new mirror at the end of the hallway.

Purple light streaked back, and Kingsley rolled to the side. By Merlin's wand, these buggers were getting smarter. They had actually moved after they cast their spells!

"Poynter!" He shot out in a tight whisper, scrambling back past the prone man.

A ripping series of gunfire spat out in front of Poynter's disillusioned form, shattering the mirror. Kingsley grabbed a handful of the man's uniform and apparated them both to the end of the hall around the corner.

The two death eaters were still turning, eyes wide in shock, wands upraised and mouths moving, when Kingsley's red stunner took one out. Three bullet holes blossomed in the other. Both dropped to the ground.

Kingsley would laugh if he had the time. Surprise had worked in their favor after all. The death eaters didn't know that the Weasley twins had found a way to key people into a charm. It had required some extra work by the twins to encapsulate part of the anti-apparition charm in a potion, but the twins had managed. Now Kingsley and his team could apparate, while the death eaters couldn't.

But this had been too close. These death eaters had come too close to the warehouse, and he was sure others were not far behind. Plans had to be moved up. Kingsley didn't bother with the dead body, except for a disappointing _accio _attempt. No chocolate. Just death eaters that didn't know how to pace themselves in a battle. After binding and stashing the still-breathing body, he grabbed Poynter and apparated to the underground warehouse with the empty boxes.

The death eaters thought it was full of food, of course. After the muggle surveillance cameras recorded a surprisingly bold rat scurrying around when the lights were on during the day, all food had been moved off the base.

A feral grin crossed Kingsley's face. Even though their five teams had picked off thirteen death eaters, there were still two dozen or more left. The odds weren't good, and they might die, but it was time to regroup. _'To the warehouse!' _He commanded. It was time to set off a few more traps. They might be outnumbered, but they had the Weasley twins tricks and potions on their side.

* * *

Harry's mind froze while he considered the consequences of an immortal Voldemort twisting the power of a pure phoenix to evil.

'_Harry? Harry!'_ Madame Longbottom's voice came through on the knut net, knocking Harry out of his stupor. The chill from the dementors seemed concentrated inside whatever spell Voldemort had just thrown up, as if it were feeding off only those inside the bubble.

He shook his head to clear it. At least he didn't hear his mother's screams when around dementors anymore. He wasn't sure if that was because her protection spell was stronger, or Snape's death curse was weaker. Maybe the horcrux inside him had resonated with the pain, bringing it to the fore.

He shook his head again. He was having a hard time concentrating, '_I need to cast the anchoring spell on both, but I have to touch their bodies with my wand to try to hide it_,' he said to her, turning toward Snape, the closest one to him. One of the dementors had begun circling his professor's body, and there wasn't time to get the baby first. Surely he'd be able to do both. Less than five yards separated the two bodies.

If he and Madame Longbottom could stay hidden, they might be able to kill Voldemort's old body in the split second before it transferred its soul into newborn Albus's body.

Voldemort laughed then, a delighted sound that almost stopped Harry. "It worked, I knew I could best that old biddy. I'll find her, then tear down the spells around Hogwarts." He whirled back toward Peter, away from his examination of the black sphere shot through with swirls of light. "Once the dementors have relieved the bodies of the useless souls, cast the spell I taught you, seven times each."

Peter bobbed his head nervously. "Seven, the number of perfection. Yes. I will cast the spells as fast as possible on Nagini, then you."

Harry smirked. Peter would have a hard time completing the spell. Voldemort didn't realize his soul had been torn into eight pieces. He wouldn't have been trying to kill Harry since first year if he'd known Harry had a horcrux in him.

Keeping his body low to the ground, he slipped along the edge of the barrier. Only a few more yards till he reached Snape. Then his foot tripped over something he couldn't see, and he went sprawling on the ground, coming to a sliding halt next to Snape.

Madame Longbottom! He must have tripped over her! He pulled his visible feet back inside the cloak, but too late.

"Potter!" Voldemort roared, his eyes glinting blood red fury at the place he'd last seen Harry's feet.

Harry scurried around the side, barely dodging a green curse that hit the ground at his feet. That was awfully close to the tree stump. Was he trying to kill Snape, too? Then where would Voldemort be with his rebirth plans?

"Master," Peter's nose twitched as he held out a beseeching hand. "Perhaps we can use the boy. Wouldn't he be a better tool for you than Snape? All of the wizarding world would follow the Boy-Who-Lived," His eyes examined the ground, his shoulders hunching in on themselves as if he were waiting to be struck down for his impertinence.

While Voldemort considered the rat's words, the dementor circled down and lowered its mouth to Snape's, beginning to draw the life from him. Snape's eyes, wide and terrified, fluttered shut.

Harry leaned over and jabbed his wand into Snape's arm, muttering the soul-anchoring spell as softly as he could, _"Animus ligo." _Rose light blossomed over Snape's arm before spilling out onto the rest of his body, The dementor jerked back, coughing rose-colored light from his gaping mouth.

The creature's bony, clawed hands clutched at his throat. "You poison me!" the dementor hissed at Voldemort, "You break your promises!"

White light bursting forth from Harry's every pore interrupted the dementor's accusation. Magic lifted Harry off his feet while his heart pounded with the strength of a hammer in his chest, wind whipping his cloak into a frenzy around him.

Understanding dawned. By saving Snape, by putting the full force of his magic behind their pact, Harry had broken the death curse he'd inherited from his father.

He pushed down a bubble of contrary laughter. Now Voldemort knew exactly where he was. A parting gift from the curse as it expelled its last breath of magic? Surely that curse was the reason he'd tripped over Madame Longbottom in the first place.

As soon as his foot touched the the ground, Harry dove and rolled, but too late. His foot shot up into the air, hanging Harry upside down near the ceiling of the dome, while his invisibility cloak blocked his view. His old wand, the one he brought to duel with Voldemort, fell out of his pocket to the ground.

* * *

Arthur hit the grounding running, bouncing sightly on the cushioning charm Mad-Eye had cast on the ground to cover the sound of their footsteps. He slipped behind a different tree for cover.

_ 'Move to your positions, move to your positions,'_ Mad-Eye chanted._ 'We're running plan Cornish Pixies.'_

That meant they wouldn't be using the modified anti-apparition charm/potion, which was just as well. With plenty of obstacles on the forest floor, it would have been foolhardy to expect so many wizards and witches untrained in stealth to place the potions around the battlefield in the appropriate spots. No doubt Mad-Eye had decided to go for the plan most likely to give them the edge of surprise.

Arthur felt a twinge of regret. Trapping the death eaters here could have given them the opportunity to catch them all.

The grizzled auror repeated the instructions over and over as the fighting crew piled out of the tree. Only Mad-Eye could see everyone with that magical eye of his, and with a gentle shove he pushed them all in the right direction.

Arthur surveyed the grounds while waiting for everyone to get into place. Death eaters clustered together in groups of two and three around the edge of a sinister black dome pierced with light, reminding him of muggle ekeltricity. The hair on the back of his neck stood up.

Ripping his attention away from the dome, he cast a silent spell on each death eater. It didn't ruffle their cloak, or even change the color of their clothing to make them easier to hit. No, this was a targeting spell that put an infrared number on their back visible only to those who had drank Fred and George's special vision potion. He understood from the muggle prime minister that their sons' invention was like the night goggles soldiers and hunters used. He had to get his hands on a pair someday.

While Arthur could have started dropping the death eaters right away, that would alert their companions. No, Plan Cornish Pixiewould cause far more damage now that Voldemort, with his strange, snake-like magic sensing skill, had isolated himself in the dome.

He heard small pops from two trees near him as Fred and George pulled corks out of their potion bottles. Their targeted, self-vaporizing potions containing draught of living death were nothing less than miraculous. It was just too bad they didn't act immediately. If the Order had time, they would let the potions do all the work for them. But since they didn't know when that menacing dome would come down, every minute was crucial.

Once Arthur finished casting the targeting spell on the last, unsuspecting death eater, Mad-Eye sent one ringing word into their minds. '_NOW!'_

A wave of red stunning spells shot through the forest, catching at least half of the unsuspecting death-eaters in the back. But only half. Arthur closed his eyes for a moment. They were all suppose to have shot at different targets. That was the purpose of the numbers he'd placed on their backs, even if there were more death eaters than Order members here.

Then the battle began in earnest, and the Order dropped their disillusionment charms. They couldn't risk friendly fire from not seeing each other. Arthur prayed that vaporized draught of living death would work fast enough. The thought of losing his friends or loved ones tore at him, and he jumped out from behind his tree with a roar. He rolled over to Fred's tree, grabbed a partially vaporized potion, and tossed it in the air.

'_Ginny, smash that potions bottle!'_ Arthur sent a picture of the spinning bottle in the air. He didn't wait to see if she hit it. He grabbed the backup potion, and tossed it out like a muggle grenade, this time sending his own blasting curse at it.

It missed.

_'I missed, Dad. Eek!_' Her thoughts cut off in a strangled gurgle as her mind left the knut net.

To be continued...

A/N Thanks everyone for your input. The ayes have it, and I'll post the rest of this story, one each day.


	66. Chapter 65

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

From the last chapter:

_ '_Ginny, smash that potions bottle_!' Arthur sent a picture of the spinning bottle in the air. He didn't wait to see if she hit it. He grabbed the backup potion, and tossed it out like a muggle grenade, this time sending his own blasting curse at it._

_ It missed. _

_ '_I missed, Dad. Eek_!' Her thoughts cut off in a strangled gurgle as her mind left the knut net._

Chapter 65

Being petrified meant Severus couldn't grind his teeth together in frustration when he heard the sound of someone tripping accompanied by a grunt that sounded suspiciously like Potter. That dunderheaded boy. A flicker of hope warred with a wave of dark despair inside him.

That hope winked out as the dementor pulled back its hood overhead to reveal a grotesque skull-like face. Sweat broke out across his body as he struggled to break the curse holding him motionless. Only his skill at occlumency allowed him to keep the horrors in his mind at bay, the horrors the dementor wanted to feed on.

He wouldn't remember Lily's dead body at his feet. He wouldn't remember holding her lifeless form in his arms, weeping for a life that should have been saved. He wouldn't remember his hatred of the boy who had lived in his mother's place.

He wouldn't.

Centimeter by centimeter, the head so reminiscent of death drew closer. Severus closed his eyes and struggled to bring some happy memory to his mind. He didn't want to remember how he'd failed Albus's final charge to let Potter know about the horcrux inside him. He didn't want think about how his soul would be trapped inside this monster, unable to pass to the other side and apologize to Lily in person after so many years.

The Dark Lord had so little presence of mind these days that he hadn't even asked about Nagini till tonight, too late for Severus to get a message to Potter. Did the boy know he had a part of Voldemort's soul inside him? Is that what made him trip at such an inopportune time, or was it Severus's own curse he'd cast on James Potter years ago that was at fault?

Regret welled up inside him. He didn't regret James's death. That toerag didn't deserve his pity. But he regretted what Lily's son had endured all these years as a result of his curse. That regret would be the last thing he remembered, for he felt the cold, smooth mouth of the Dementor latch onto his own lips.

Then, unlooked for and perhaps unwanted, a wand jabbed him in his arm, and he heard a muttered spell. _Animus ligo? _The boy knew the _expecto patronum_ spell, why not use that? Regret again washed over him, painting the inside of his eyelids a rosy color. Peace like he'd never known seeped into every cell of his body, and he felt whole for the first time since he could remember.

He opened his eyes, surprised he could still do so, and saw the dementor hold its skeletal hands up to its throat.

But Snape couldn't concentrate on that. Petrified, he could do little to affect his surroundings. Did Potter do something to break the curse binding them? Is that why he felt whole? Potter saving his soul like this, even if Snape died on this tree stump, ought to break that it if nothing else would. Still, with no other means of helping left to him, Severus willed his magic to let go of the curse, to reel in the final tendril inside himself. It would die with him.

Perhaps the dementor would choke on that in truth.

Then a flash of white lit the air, blinding Severus, and the previously invisible Potter hung by his ankle, cloak flapping in the breeze as dementors circled the small dome.

"Use this boy instead of my faithful servant Severus? No, this body hanging in front of us has been poisoned by Dumbledore, though the boy knows it not."

Severus tried to smirk, forgetting he couldn't move. Potter hadn't been poisoned. It was the Dark Lord who couldn't live in a body soaked through with Lily's love.

"Severus will make a much better vehicle for me. I will continue to use Alrick Armstrong's hair of course. Sheep, magical or not, do like their proper appearances, and they never did like Severus's nose. Why the fellow didn't shrink it, I don't know. And don't forget to pick up Potter's wand. Break it."

That jovial, chatty tone Voldemort had taken meant the wit sharpening potion would fail soon. Unfortunately, the Dark Lord knew that, too. He commanded the dementors to take their souls.

The sharp snap of breaking wood reached Severus's ears.

"I will save Harry Potter for last, of course. His soulless body will make a wonderful display in the Ministry of Magic's entrance, don't you think, Peter?"

Once again, a dementor's icy lips touched his, and Severus shut his eyes. He shut them to hide his despair that despite his best efforts for Lily, her son would not only die, but lose his soul. His own soul Severus didn't care much about; it was too soiled. But he'd promised he'd protect Harry, and he hadn't.

Long seconds ticked by, and the dementor made agitated sounds. Surprise filled him, but he didn't dare open his eyes.

"No soul..." the dementor spoke in a harsh, grating whisper.

"What do you mean, no soul?" Voldemort demanded.

Severus quickly dumped the wonder and hope surging through him out of his mind, knowing what would come next. A thumb pried open one eyelid, then the other. Red eyes stared into his, and Severus employed all of his occlumency skills. Not to put up walls, but to make his mind seem as empty as the space between the earth and moon.

A rough hand caked with peeling skin wiped his eyes closed again. "Nothing's there. You must have gotten him the first time." A pause sounded, and that hideous, grating sound full of nightmares began again, only to be interrupted.

"Do not protest! Now the baby. His soul will be sweet, not like the poison filling this one."

The order had a cajoling air around the edge of it, and Severus knew Voldemort must be desperate for the rest of his plan to take place. What that was, he wasn't sure.

It couldn't be good, judging by his delighted hiss as the dementor obeyed him. In his mind's eye, he could see the other dementor lowering its hood to suck the baby's soul out.

* * *

Minerva groaned, softly, when she saw how few death eaters fell to the ground under the first volley. How long did the twin's vaporizing potion take to work? Twenty minutes?

Then she winced when she heard Arthur's unsuccessful attempts to vaporize the potion faster. Would it even work now with the bottles broken? The twins had been rather cagey about whether the potion vaporized itself or if the bottle did the trick. Trade secrets or not, the lack of that knowledge would cost them here.

She wished she had some knights from Hogwarts to animate. Still, her mother had always counseled her to make the best of bad situations.

Ron and Hermione's forms materialized in front of her, and Minerva sent matching boulder blobs, previously pebbles, to shield them. Then she threw another set of pebbles into the air, and as they hit the apex of their arch, she transfigured them into more boulders. Heavy ones, made of iron at their core.

The shrieks following the dull thuds as her boulders hit the ground were rather satisfying, she admitted to herself as she dodged a cutting curse, thanking Mad-Eye in her mind – quietly – for the training. But she didn't thank him for the new bruise on her shoulder from rolling out of the way of a green killing curse. Despite the protection provided by the soul-anchoring charm, she had no desire to find out its success first hand. The bear and the blast-ended screwt often ended up unconscious after a test, and they hadn't figured out why. There were plenty of ways for a vengeful death eater to kill her if she lay unconscious, beginning with those large boulders she'd provided that they were now using for cover.

She grinned at their foolishness. Did they remember nothing their transfiguration teacher had taught them? At least they'd come through Hogwarts before her time, or she might feel rather ashamed of them for not researching the footnotes of their transfiguration textbook. She stepped behind a tree, using the smoke as its bark caught fire to hide her movements. Then with a flick of her wand she transfigured the bracken debris littering the ground in front of her dueling students into a large earthen hill, separating both fighting forces.

Ron and Hermione, fighting back to back, turned to her with shocked expressions.

'_Stay down!' _She commanded through the knut net. Placing temporary sticking charms on her non-wand hand and both feet, she scampered up the backside of the tree. Then, as soon as she had line of sight on the boulders she released the stability strands woven into the spells holding together the tons of rock. It was a tricky maneuver, requiring that she undo only some of the underlying runes of the spell.

After all, she still wanted the mass of the rocks to stay the same. Just not their...togetherness.

BOOM!

Tons of shrapnel hurtled through air, exploding outward to shred anyone standing in its way. Minerva swallowed hard at the devastation unfolding in a wave before her eyes. She pulled back to duck behind the cover of her tree trunk when she saw the prone form of Ginny Weasley on the wrong side of the protecting earth bank.

Without thought for herself, Minerva cast one more transfiguration spell. Ginny Weasley's cloak rippled, then expanded to cover her form, hardening into gleaming steel.

Then shards of rock knocked Minerva from her perch, sending her pinwheeling through the air, and oozing blackness claimed her before the ground wrapped her in its rough embrace.

* * *

Kingsley hovered on his broom high up in the dark recesses of the cavernous warehouse. '_Are the soldiers in position, Claxton?' _

_ 'Yes, sir, Mr. Kingsley sir,_'

Kingsley bit back a smile. It would have been a savage one, and he didn't want to scare the young auror. '_Stay hidden till I give the signal. We'll see how effective the potions are.'_

How he missed having Tonks guard his back! Still, he would just have to make do, and the twins' unique potions skills would certainly help.

Just then the door to the underground warehouse in East Anglia's military bunker eased open. A cautious death eater stuck his head through the door. '_Don't take it, don't take it!' _The last thing they needed was to scare off the rest of the death eaters now trickling in behind the first.

They hadn't engaged each other in the last fifteen minutes, and their wariness showed in their slow movements and how the eyes behind those white masks searched for movement. While that caution was admirable, they forgot to look up.

_'Let them get all they way in, now,_' Kingsley reminded the rest of the aurors. Really, the reminder was only for Claxton. The lad had an amazing knack for screwing up even the easiest of assignments.

'_NOW!' _Kingsley flung his arm in a wide arc, flinging the door shut behind the death eaters, then following up with a heat charm to weld the metal door shut in its frame. No one was leaving this warehouse anytime soon.

The death eaters shrieked in rage as they scattered - just the response Kingsley had planned on.

Several death eaters dove behind huge pallets wrapped in shrouds of plastic, obviously hoping to extract some of the food they'd been tasked with retrieving. Kingsley bared his teeth when red light flashed up from the floor as death eater feet made contact with it.

They'd dosed the floor closest to the pallets all around the warehouse with liberal amounts of Fred and George Weasley's capture-all potion. In this case, the potion captured the spell and the magic powering it, releasing it upon contact with anything.

Instead of falling to the ground, stunned, the three death-eaters spun woozily in their tracks. That was the downside. The effect of the potion was spread out along the whole area it had been painted on, in this case an area two yards square. Still, staggering in a circle lit the ground up around them like a muggle Christmas tree, and they finally collapsed to the ground.

Kingsley turned his eye up to the center ceiling, glad to see Claxton finally carrying out a mission flawlessly, popping floating helium balloons with capture-all potion inside. Different colors showered down on the death eaters below, and the ones left standing and in human form scrambled to find cover.

The smart ones clustered by the door and began blasting their way through the reinforced steel, clearly struggling against their own heavy limbs. They were smart, because that was the only surface in the entire warehouse that hadn't been coated with capture-all potion.

Kingsley popped his balloon full of stunning capture-all potion over the last clump of death eaters who were about to escape through the small hole they'd managed to create.

Instead of escaping, they collapsed.

'_Aurors, let that be a lesson to you. Never walk into an obvious trap._'

Now they just had to get out of this room without stunning themselves, being transfigured into toads, pigs, or any of the other animals now wandering in here courtesy of Minerva's excellent spell work earlier today.

When they got back to the manor, Kingsley would appropriate capture-all potion for the ministry. Once they restored the ministry, of course.

'_Shall I sweep the rest of the bunker and then give the all clear?' _Claxton asked in a tentative mind voice.

"Take Savage with you," Kingsley said out loud. That way no death eater would escape. He turned and gave orders to the other two aurors, his mind now only half on the job. He hoped things went as well for the Order in the Forbidden Forest as they had here.

* * *

Fear filled Arthur at what he would find when he stuck his head over the barrier of earth Minerva had thrown up. Things had happened too fast once Amycus had snapped a whip of fire around Ginny's neck, choking her and pulling Arthur's daughter toward him, a look of mad glee in his eyes.

Arthur knew it was him. They'd been bitter rivals for Molly's affections at Hogwarts before she'd discovered the Slytherin's carefully hidden dark side, and Arthur had no doubt the wizard would take his anger out on Arthur's daughter.

At least Ginny still lived for now. Amycus liked to draw out his torture. Arthur's throat tightened when he saw the raw, burned skin ringing Ginny's throat, visible from twenty yards away. Visible until a large mound of earth sprouted in front of him.

Then a loud boom rang in his ears, and Arthur instinctively ducked as missiles of rock passed over head, dull thuds sounding as the low-flying projectiles hit the pile of earth in front of him.

Fear ran through his mind – why hadn't he cast some sort of protection spell on Ginny? Something, anything. Even a cushioning charm! Cursing his own faulty instincts, Arthur scrambled over the pockmarked hill, shards of all sizes buried halfway into the mound on the other side. Stepping on them sped his descent, and he sprinted to Ginny's still form now cloaked by her robes.

He kept his wand out but it wasn't needed. Most of the death eaters had clustered behind Minerva's boulders for protection and were now unrecognizable, while Fred, George, Ron, and Hermione cast spells at the few uninjured death eaters fleeing on foot.

Hermione and Ron made an excellent team. She blasted the earth in front of the fleeing death eaters, while Ron turned turned death eaters into massive slugs. He had an affinity for that transfiguration since he'd vomited them for hours his second year. Arthur supposed that would give one an intimate acquaintance with the things. He didn't wince when a massive slug rippled its body the wrong way and blocked one of Hermione's _reductos_. Slime rained down on the already blood-stained battlefield

_Someone must have put up anti-apparition barriers. That's why they're running away. Tom, I suppose. He didn't want easy access to this place tonight. Easy access or escape. It's a good thing we didn't try to use the specialized anti-apparition potion._

His gorge rose in his throat as the warm stench of the battlefield reached him, and he breathed shallowly through his nose. Then, assured his daughter was safe from further external threats, he tenderly fell to his knees and tried to pull back the cloak, but he couldn't.

Its stiff folds had been hardened by someone into metal, and Arthur blessed that person. _Minerva, I'm sure. She would remember Madame Malkin's clothes could be hardened into a shield_. He gathered his daughter's stiff form in his arms and apparated back to the Manor -they'd killed whoever had set the anti-apparition spells. Arthur couldn't find it in his heart to be sorry. Because of that his daughter might live.

* * *

Harry dangled upside down with his foot in the air, frustration warring with horror inside him. Frustration that he couldn't reach his wand. The new one secure in its holder, the one he couldn't reach because the _levicorpus_ spell wouldn't let him reach it. He'd had no idea it was like a petrification spell, just with very limited movement. And those robes hanging in front of his face really blocked his vision.

But the horror was the worst part. Horror that he hadn't cast the soul-anchoring charm on the baby yet. Albus Dumbledore, whose soul was about to be sucked out by a dementor. Once Voldemort convinced the now reluctant creature, anyway. Harry grinned at that. Anything that hurt a dementor was cause for joy in his book.

At least he'd been able to save Snape's soul, he tried to console himself. It made sense. A soul-anchoring spell would prevent dementors from sucking that same soul out of the body. But that achievement paled in comparison with losing Dumbledore. Harry swallowed the lump threatening to close off his throat. If he lived through this, he knew he'd regret choosing to save Snape first forever. Why had he done such a foolish thing, even if the dementor had been going for him first?

He forced his self-recrimination back. If he was going to get out of this mess somehow, it would be on his own. He had to look for an opening. He struggled with his arms. They felt like they had been wrapped in great chunks of cement, but he managed to create an opening in the robes covering him. He still couldn't reach his wand, though.

As he watched, the dementor lowered its head to the wailing, sobbing baby's, and Harry flexed his hand in a desperate attempt to get more movement. Did he dare try to access the external pool of magic? How immediate would the reciprocal boon be for Voldemort?

Still, he couldn't sit back and do nothing. So he breathed deeply and tried to open himself to that calming, external pool of magic he'd felt only twice before.

Nothing.

He clenched his hands shut and tried again. Perhaps he needed to clear his mind like Snape had told him to do for occlumency. But he couldn't. Not with the hovering dementor mere centimeters from the baby's squalling, squirming face.

Then the dementor flew sideways, as if hit by something invisible.

Or perhaps by someone disillusioned! It was strange to see the baby flying through the air, then disappear as a cloak whipped around him.

Voldemort let out a scream of rage. "_Avada kedavra!"_ The green beam of light washed over the outline of a form rolling to a stop on the ground. Then Madame Longbottom's limp figure flashed a rose color before popping into full view as her disillusionment charm failed.

Harry's breath caught in his throat. Mad-Eye's spell was no where near as powerful as Voldemort's. Had Madame Longbottom and Dumbledore been killed?

As he watched, Madame Longbottom's cloak rippled and expanded, plunging into the earth around her prone form, encasing her and the baby in a protective cocoon. The stuffed vulture took flight, diving towards Wormtail, who threw himself behind his master, hands held protectively over his head, the previously gloating rat now whimpering with fear.

Voldemort kicked the man cowering behind him and destroyed the bird with a well-placed _reducto_. Feathers flew everywhere inside the small dome.

"Make the transfer now, Wormtail. The first one. We'll deal with that," he kicked Madame Longbottom, causing a hollow metallic sound to reach Harry's ears, "after." A dribble of spittle leaked out the corner of his mouth. He wiped it with the back of his hand.

"Yes, Master," a bowing Peter picked himself up off the ground, old leaves and dirt covering the back of his cloak.

Voldemort stepped back onto his wooden slab and caressed Nagini, still coiled on her own board. "Soon my dear, your purpose will be fulfilled."

The snake hissed, her tongue licking the palm of her master's hand.

Peter drew himself up to his full height, "_Transfero animus secui ex hic ut illic_," he chanted seven times, as he'd been taught. His voice increased with power and command upon each rendition, and Harry wondered why this side of the mousy wizard had never been seen. _Was this why Voldemort trusted him with his soul? _

Of course, Voldemort would probably kill him afterwards. There was no way he'd allow such valuable information to leave this dome.

When nothing happened after the seventh time, confusion creased Peter's face, and Harry dared to hope that this transfer would fail. Peter didn't know Voldemort's soul was really in eight pieces, not seven, because Voldemort didn't know about the piece of soul he'd stuck inside Harry.

But then Peter chanted the spell one last time, jabbing his wand with extra force as if to make the spell work.

And it did work.

A black miasma spun out of Voldemort's collapsing body, and Peter expertly directed it towards Snape's still petrified form. The transfer was far smoother than Hermione's, a part of Harry's mind noted. Was it because this soul-piece wanted to move, or because Peter had been tutored by Voldemort himself?

Peter stretched the squirming black fog into a man's shape, just above Snape's waiting body. Then he lowered the fog with one quick slash of his wand.

Harry blinked in surprise. Between one moment and the next, Snape was gone. He'd just sunk into the tree, like-

Like Harry sank into tree trunks when riding through the root system with Ollivander! The blackness sinking into the ancient tree stump meant Voldemort's soul-piece had instead been absorbed into the tree stump itself.

Harry couldn't help himself. A grin split his face from ear to ear when the stump burst into flame. The lone green leaf sitting at the base of the stump turned to ash as flames licked over it.

Harry coughed, the thick smoke quickly filling the small dome and hiding everything from view. But that wouldn't matter. Peter no doubt still stood in shock near the tree trunk.

The magic holding him hostage abruptly let him go, failing with the death of the soul-piece that had cast it. Because that's all Voldemort was. A soul-piece in a borrowed vessel. But he wasn't destroyed, not yet.

A brief breeze caressed his face, but then it sputtered to a halt. Harry didn't have a chance to think about that as he fell to the ground in a tangle of robes. He grabbed his wand from its hidden holder, cast a stunning spell in Peter's direction, then grabbed the goblin-wrought knife filled with basilisk venom from his belt. Triumph shot through him after hearing a thump through the smoke, and Harry stumbled his way toward Nagini. He couldn't see her, but he knew she'd never disobey her master.

The snake, eyes glinting red, hissed and slashed at his face, gashing his shoulder instead with her venomous fangs as he dodged to the side.

Black spots that had nothing to do with the smoke clouded his vision. He'd been wrong. No horcrux had been destroyed with the burning stump. Voldemort's red eyes looked out of the snake. His soul-fragment, the primary one that had spent years wandering the forests of Albania, must have used its last strength and connection with Nagini in a desperate bid to escape the fire.

The rest of the pieces to the puzzle fell into place between one breath and the next. Voldemort's brief stint of time between the stump and the snake must have been when the _levicorpus _failed. The dome had probably shivered out of existence at the same time, causing the sputtering wind. But Voldemort's return to a body allowed him to stabilize the dome's complex magic before it failed completely.

All he had to do now was wait Harry out. The fire was rapidly depleting the remaining oxygen. Nagini might die, but by then Voldemort would escape in spirit form like he did so many years ago when he killed Harry's parents. More horcruxes could always be made.

Harry's eyes narrowed, protecting them against the smoke's sting. He would not – could not - allow that. He could only see one thing to do. If Minerva could consider a final strike using what she loved the most – Hogwarts - then so could Harry.

He charged forward, wand in his left hand, dagger in his right. He willed a stunning spell out of his wand, and it obeyed. Red light engulfed Nagini, but she didn't fall. Her scales gleamed red, as if absorbing the spell. Harry shouted, plunging the knife into the snake as deeply as he could.

Nagini's fangs ripped into his chest, spilling agony across his entire left side. Still, Harry plunged the dagger deeper into her side, twisting and pushing till the strength left his hand.

His legs no longer supporting him, Harry fell to the ground, a weak smile playing across his face as a distinct look of alarm radiated from those red eyes. Instead of tearing at Harry's now-exposed throat, the snake tried to grab the hilt of the dagger with it's fanged mouth to remove it from the burning, smoking flesh spilling dark liquid. _Not blood! Essence of horcrux._

Tiredness made the thin thread of joy he felt slip out of reach, and Harry struggled to make his lungs move, to make them breath in and out. His chest felt so heavy, and breathing didn't seem to do any good. His eyes, too heavy to hold open, slid down. The last thing he saw was a glimpse of a shuddering dome through a thin patch of smoke before he slipped into a welcome darkness.

To be continued...


	67. Chapter 66

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

From the last chapter

_ Nagini's fangs ripped into his chest, spilling agony across his entire left side. Still, Harry plunged the dagger deeper into her side, twisting and pushing till the strength left his hand._

_ His legs no longer supporting him, Harry fell to the ground, a weak smile playing across his face as a distinct look of alarm radiated from those red eyes. Instead of tearing at Harry's now-exposed throat, the snake tried to grab the hilt of the dagger with it's fanged mouth to remove it from the burning, smoking flesh spilling dark liquid. Not blood! Essence of horcrux._

_ Tiredness made the thin thread of joy he felt slip out of reach, and Harry struggled to make his lungs move, to make them breath in and out. His chest felt so heavy, and breathing didn't seem to do any good. His eyes, too heavy to hold open, slid down. The last thing he saw was a glimpse of a shuddering dome through a thin patch of smoke before he slipped into a welcome darkness._

Chapter 66

Minerva struggled to open her eyes against the glaring sunlight filling the room. _This can't be the Manor._ Since she was alive, she must be in Madame Pomfrey's capable hands. But her infirmary in the Manor had no windows, natural or magical, to let in sunlight.

Millimeter by millimeter she pried her eyelids open, till through slitted eyes she saw the welcome sight of the arched windows of Hogwarts infirmary. _I must have been near enough to death that the wards came down around the castle_. That she was alive, that Madame Pomfrey was alive and smiling, waving a wand over her, surely meant they'd won, didn't it?

Minerva opened her mouth to ask a question, any question - her foggy mind wasn't sure what – but only a croak came out.

"Give the poor lady some water, Poppy!" Augusta Longbottom's commanding voice came from somewhere to her right.

Minerva turned her head fractionally, taking in the sight of the matron in the bed next to hers. After gratefully accepting a sip of cool water from Poppy, Minerva cleared her throat and tried again. "What happened?" She wasn't sure who she was asking the question of, Augusta or Poppy.

"You, my dear headmistress, almost died in that stunt of yours," Poppy bustled around the bed, straightening Minerva's bedclothes in an attempt to hide the sudden tears in her eyes. "If your clothing hadn't taken the worst of the blast..." She trailed off, eyes distant. "I hardly recognized you, Minerva. We had to cut those marvelous clothes off, but they did save your life. If the rest of your body was in the same shape as your face..."

Minerva tried to take stock of her face. It felt swollen and bruised, but she had both eyes, and a normal nose from the little she could see of it. She licked her lips. They felt like hers.

"Mad-Eye got you to me fast enough that we saved your eyes. And your nose. And the skin on your face. Cut to ribbons, it was. You have a few new teeth." Madame Pomfrey sniffed, and then turned on her heel and strode to her office. "He said only he was allowed to have a magical eye. He wasn't about to be upstaged by the likes of you, Minerva McGonagall!"

Minerva smiled, knowing that Poppy's rough words hid the depth of her worry. If the fact that the wards around Hogwarts had fallen didn't convince her, Poppy's words did. She was lucky to be alive. Now she'd have to cover the fact that her near death caused Hogwart's wards to drop. They couldn't have future generations knowing that fact. Perhaps she'd say she dropped the wards just before the battle, in case she died and the wards became permanently impenetrable. That should do nicely.

After turning slowly on her side, stiff muscles protesting every small movement, Minerva said to Augusta, "I hope you managed to reign in that impulsive boy." Minerva's throat tightened in memory of her anxiety after watching Harry and Augusta plunge through the tree trunk they'd all been hiding in. If those green eyes were permanently lifeless... She swallowed hard to get rid of the lump in her throat.

A small smile played around Augusta's mouth, and the tension drained out of Minerva like pumpkin juice from a leaky glass.

"After that clumsy boy tripped over me and got himself caught, he did perform admirably. Or so I heard. I'd lost consciousness I'm afraid shortly thereafter."

"Unconsciousness?" Minerva prodded.

Augusta grimaced with embarrassment, a hint of color darkening her cheeks. "You would have done the same thing, Minerva. You did, actually, from what I hear. That poor baby was defenseless. Well, I triggered the active defenses in my cloak– the ones we didn't have time to build for you all - and dove for the child."

Augusta shrugged her shoulders at this point, and Minerva understood. She'd made the same decision with Ginny. Minerva had had a long and full life, while Ginny's was just beginning. That Minerva got to keep hers was a bonus. She was sure Augusta felt the same.

"Then why are you in here?" Minerva asked, noticing for the first time that Augusta had moved hardly an inch during the time they'd been talking.

"It seems Tom mixed his spells a bit in the end. The wit sharpening potion must not have been as effective as he thought. The killing curse had no effect, thanks to Luna's spell, besides knocking me out. But Tom cast another spell at the same time, and I seem to have a magical version of the late stage Lou Gherig's disease."

Minerva felt her eyes widening with shock and pity. No wonder this great lady in front of her had hardly moved a muscle.

Augusta smiled upon seeing Minerva's expression. "Not to worry, Minerva. Food made from Neville's crops seems to help somehow. At least I can talk, in any case. Even if I don't make a full recovery, that is something. And Neville thinks the food may help Alice and Frank."

Augusta's voice was prim and proper, but Minerva thought she heard a hint a shakiness, a bit of fear mixed with hope behind the words. But instead of acknowledging that, Minerva nodded and changed the subject. "I'm sure your battle clothes blunted the worst of the effect, as they did for me."

Smiling at the tacit gratitude in that statement, Augusta said, "We've paid a small sacrifice to free ourselves from those monsters."

Minerva looked down, feeling the aches so deep inside her she didn't know if they'd ever go away. "A small sacrifice indeed," she agreed.

* * *

Arthur clapped the soldier in front of him on the shoulder. "You fought well, my good man! You and your platoon suffered a few knocks to the head, but you should be all right now. Good as new."  
The soldier's glazed eyes slowly focused on Arthur, taking in the not-quite-muggle outfit he'd cobbled together to allow him to help with the obliviation process. Arthur felt a twinge of regret at having to remove this brave man's memories, but he pushed it away.

Even if the man in the fascinating camouflage clothing had helped capture or kill the death eaters attacking this bunker, he still couldn't be allowed to remember it. None of them could.

The soldier in front of him shook off his confused stupor, thanked Arthur, and retreated out of the muggle infirmary, casting one last perplexed glance at Arthur's tie-dyed shirt.

Arthur wiped his sweaty hands on a handkerchief from his pocket. He hated lying like that, even if the soldiers had agreed to the memory wipe beforehand. It still left him feeling dirty. He turned to Claxton Proudfoot, the auror helping him with this odious task.

"The last one?" Arthur asked hopefully.

Claxton nodded, sitting down with a heavy thump in a nearby chair. "As soon as this cleanup is all over, I'm going to volunteer to become a sleeper with the rest of my family. I could use a bit of rest."

"We all could," Arthur said, knowing that wasn't the true reason Claxton was volunteering. He was a good man, if rather inept as an auror. Come to think of it, he wasn't all that good at gathering food, either. In actual fact, Claxton Proudfoot was volunteering with his family to sleep away the next few months to free up resources for others.

After all, the less of Neville's seed they ate now, the more they could plant and then distribute to whoever was left alive, muggle or magical, as winter approached. Oh, in Britain they would be fine within a month, as far as food went. But the rest of the world, that was a different story. Every seed not eaten now could yield a bushel or two in food after a few harvests.

Arthur's own family - all thankfully alive - was not going to sleep. No, for the next few months they'd spend all their hours from dawn to dusk traveling the world gathering food from remote places muggles hadn't penetrated. The middle of the ocean. Alaska. Remote parts of Texas. South American countries filled with pineapples, papayas, bananas and other fruit growing on trees as far as the eye could see on untended plantations.

They wouldn't take food from any muggle, of course. But if they could coordinate the most effective of the magical resources left in the world, they may be able to help the remaining muggles eke out a meager existence till they'd sowed Neville's seed in every corner of the world.

By this time next year, hunger should be a thing of the past.

* * *

The Prime Minister of Britain gave Kingsley's hand a vigorous shake. "We'll be able to rebuild now, thanks to you."

Kingsley surveyed the still full muggle warehouse deep in the bunker of East Anglia. They'd managed to remove all traces of the capture-all potion, something that had taken days to accomplish. Kingsley couldn't count the times he'd been turned into a pig or something else. He was sure Fred and George had been laughing too hard to turn him back, which was why he'd spent long, miserable minutes as an animal each time.

"I'm impressed with how quickly you mobilized your people to plant the crops," Kingsley said, his deep voice rumbling in his chest.

"Survival is a motivator," the prime minister said dryly. "What we didn't have equipment to do, we sowed by hand. The seed was in the ground the day after you delivered it to us. The people are ecstatic you found seed 'mutated' by nuclear fallout in such a marvelous way."

They both shared an ironic look. Both knew muggles would believe that implausible story over any tale of magic.

"Well, I'd best not keep you here any longer." The Prime Minister began walking toward the door of the underground warehouse. "I hear you've had a rather nice promotion of late."

"True. _Temporary_ Minister of Magic." Kingsley wasn't sure he wanted the job on a permanent basis. While the chance to rebuild an uncorrupt ministry from the ground up was attractive, he didn't particularly want the headaches that would bring.

"Temporary," said the Prime Minister, "has a way of becoming permanent for the best of men."

Kingsley grimaced. "Just because I opposed Voldemort to all the world in that _Quibble_r article doesn't mean I'm the best for the job. Hardly anyone believed it at the time. It was in the _Quibbler_, after all.

The Prime Minister smiled at that. After living in Xenophilius Lovegood's home for weeks, he knew precisely why few people believed Kingsley's warning. "You'll never know if you're suited to the job till you try it. I look forward to our weekly meetings; come through the fireplace anytime."

Now Kingsley smiled. "That'll be the best part of the job." With a final nod of respect, he apparated away to begin rebuilding British magical society.

* * *

"Will you return?" Ollivander asked Severus Snape.

Severus's busy hands paused. He'd been digging up a patch of sopophorous beans deep in the jungles of the Amazon rainforest. Despite his _impervious_ charm, thick humidity reached its damp tentacles under his collar and seeping through every crack in his clothing. He was as soaked as if he been sitting in a sauna.

But really, thinking about the humidity was only an excuse to avoid thinking about his future. He had killed Dumbledore, although no one but him knew the state was temporary. How anyone could accept him back at Hogwarts was beyond his imagination, even if Minerva had extended the invitation.

In any case, did he want to spend more years beating the rules of potion making into stubborn, dunderheaded children? He'd stayed for Albus, to protect Harry Potter, and to fight in the war against Voldemort. None of those reasons were valid anymore.

"I don't know," he answered in the end. "It's not like I have anywhere else to go."

Ollivander looked around the rainforest, then up as a light misting of rain droplets sprinkled down on them as wind rustled through the canopy above them. "Severus, have you noticed that most people have begun to forget my ability to travel through tree roots?"

The apparent non sequitur caused Severus to furrow his brow. "No one has mentioned that part of the final battle recently," he said. And what did that mean? "Though how they'll account for the mango trees we're bringing in, I wouldn't guess." Was Ollivander casting some sort of _obliviate_ on them all?

Severus knew there was more to the man than he knew, but he wasn't complaining. Getting pulled into a tree trunk before a horcrux possessed him was fine by Severus any day. Although escaping that same trunk through its root system while setting it on fire had been exciting, to say the least.

"Have you ever wondered, Severus, why you have such an affinity for plants. How your unusual understanding of them has made you the preeminent potions master in Britain?"

Severus's eyes narrowed as he looked back down at the patch of sopophorous plants he was harvesting to create more draught of living death. That Ollivander asked meant the old man thought he knew the answer. Severus had assumed his instinctive understanding of plants and how they worked in potions was just that, an instinctive gift meant to balance out all the horror he'd been through in his life.

"You will suggest an answer, I'm sure " Severus said, placing several dried bean pods into his gathering bag as if he didn't care about Ollivander's reply.

"Dryad blood is spread far and wide among the magical population of Britain," Ollivander said, "Quite diluted, to be sure. Every now and then, that blood concentrates or comes to the fore, giving that person an enhanced ability with plants."

"Such as the plants I use in my potions," Severus said, almost absently. What Ollivander said made a basic amount of sense. He knew few pureblood families were actually that, pureblooded. One need only look at the Malfoy family to see they had Veela blood in them, Narcissa included.

"And the plants Neville modifies. Have none of you thought it strange how quickly that boy has modified new seed types? The first took him over five years!"

_Of course Neville would have dryad blood_, Severus thought. _It seems as if I'm never to be rid of that walking potions disaster if this conversation goes as I anticipate._

Severus chose to be obtuse, to give him longer to think about the possibilities Ollivander could present before him. His lips twitched upward into a sardonic smile. Only he would debate the pros and cons of an offer that might never be given. "I thought Neville's rapid progress was due to draining magic from the erumpant horn in Xenophilius's house to power his seed-changing spells."

Severus wouldn't comment on how dangerous that had been. That Neville's very presence hadn't blown the horn up spoke volumes about the old aphorism where God protected fools. Which was Xenophilius, in this case.

Ollivander sounded amused. "Yes, there is that. But one of the reasons I brought you out here today is to offer you a choice: return to your position as potions master, or come with me and learn about your heritage."

Severus blew out his breath, and the leaves of the sopophorous plants he knelt in rippled in the brief breeze as if tickled. "I can't leave right away. I have obligations to fulfill. Potions to brew."

"And I have wands to make. Then we'll leave, and I'll show you what you were born for. But here, take this and wipe the rest of that scar off." He proffered a piece of hornbeam.

Severus took the wood, but didn't reply. He focused on filling up the rest of his bag with bean pods. As he dropped each browned, leathery pod into its place, a drop of peace trickled down into his soul. He'd be able to get rid of his scar - a symbol of the biggest mistake he'd made in his life - and the wandmaker had offered him a chance at a new life. If he chose this, perhaps he would finally be on the right path.

* * *

Harry tightened his fingers, entwined with Ginny's, when she leaned over the crenellations at the top of the astronomy tower at Hogwarts.

"It's not like I'm going to drop Albus," Ginny scolded him with a smile, hefting the cooing, red-headed baby on her hip.

"And if you go over the edge yourself?" Harry asked, tugging her back toward him, careful to not jar his wounded shoulder and arm. Still in a sling since no magic or stitches could close the seeping slashes, his arm ached and throbbed. But it was still there. He was still here, and that was all that mattered.

"I won't. And it's not like I was the only one in the hospital recently. At least you didn't have to worry if my brain had been damaged from breathing in all that smoke!" Her tremulous smile gave lie to her sharp words, and her fingers loosened themselves from Harry's to drift up to the scar around her neck in an unconscious gesture.

Her scar's angry red lines might soften as time passed, but they'd never go away. Harry didn't mind. The scar reminded him each day of her fiery courage.

Ginny turned her attention back over Hogwart's grounds. "Did you ever think we'd see this entire area turned into farmland? Right up to the Forbidden Forest?"

"And into it. Hagrid's planted berry bushes on the edges. He says it will keep the children out, but I think it's because he's finally found out what those blast-ended screwts eat."

Ginny let out a laugh. "No! Not raspberries?"

"Terribly humdrum," Harry agreed, putting his arm around her and the baby they'd adopted, Albus Severus Potter. Harry still smiled at the name. Everyone thought they were honoring the heroes of this last wizarding war. And they were. Snape was still fuming about that.

Harry would have to figure out how to involve that man in Albus's life without throttling Snape in the process. Albus had wanted it, and Harry knew the potions master would ensure Albus didn't get too spoiled. Molly would no doubt help on that score, since the Weasleys were staying at the castle while they rebuilt their house. He suspected Molly would drag the building process out the whole school year to help him and Ginny so they could study.

They'd be married soon after all, and it would be awfully difficult to take care of Albus and take their NEWTs at the same time without Molly's help. Even he knew that. Still, he and Ginny wanted to marry soon, a year or two before they might have otherwise. Albus needed two parents to raise him, and neither he nor Ginny would consider giving that task to anyone else. Only they knew who he really was, and they were both determined to give Albus a happy childhood. When the man's memories would return to him, they didn't know. Until then, he'd be treated as any other child they would have together.

Shaking those thoughts away, Harry turned his head as he heard footsteps coming up the stairs to join them. He nodded hello to Neville, Luna, Ron, and Hermione.

"I wish we'd start classes sooner than after Christmas holidays," Hermione looked out at the changed landscape with a wistful sigh.

Ron pretended to gag, but he turned it into a cough when Hermione elbowed him. "Sorry," he said, putting on an ernest face. "I'm just so looking forward to finding food for all those muggles. What's that compared to bookwork? Now everyone gets to eat seaweed and fish!"

Hermione shook her head at his antics, but before she could say anything, Neville pointed out a peculiar scene playing out in front of them

Ron squinted his eyes at the small figures walking down to Hogwart's front gates. "Hey, is that your dad, Luna? Holding hands with Professor Trelawny?"

Harry bit his tongue, hoping the pain would help him stifle the urge to laugh out loud. Still, a grin escaped.

"War time brings people together; it's a common side effect. And she does see things other people can't. They're perfect for each other that way," Luna said.

_How can someone look both happy and sad at the same time?_ Harry wondered.

"I'm sure they'll be happy together," Hermione said. A diplomatic statement if Harry had ever heard one, considering her opinion of the divination professor.

"Anyway. I was talking bookwork," Hermione changed the subject, casting a mock glare at Ron to prevent any more interruptions. "I've been analyzing the process you use with your new seeds, Neville. Its absolutely brilliant! But when are you planning on telling everyone?"

Neville blushed scarlet, and Harry wasn't sure if it was due to Hermione's compliment or question.

"Tell them what?" Neville's eyes shifted sideways, as if he hoped answering with a question would allow him to avoid answering hers. He ought to know Hermione better.

"That eating this seed will open the magical channels in every human being that eats it!" Hermione's impassioned declaration caused Harry's mouth to drop open.

Every human being? Including the muggles that ate it?

"Shh!" Neville hissed, and stepped closer so they could hear his lowered voice. "It's not too late to _accio_ the seeds out of the ground, you know. There are purebloods who would do that."

"Neville," Ron said, "is Hermione saying you're single-handedly turning all the muggles into witches and wizards?" Ron looked like he wanted to say more, but he stopped instead.

Harry understood. The concept was too big. No more muggles for the purebloods to look down on? The whole world magical? The potential changes to society, to the world, boggled his mind.

If possible, Neville's face turned an even richer red in response to Ron's question, and he looked down at his feet. "I didn't start off trying to do that," he said. "But when I realized all the magic people would ingest through their food had to go somewhere, I used it to strengthen and eventually activate the latent magical lines every human has. That's why we keep getting muggleborns like you, Hermione. Those magical lines inside you become active, and then you come to Hogwarts."

"You're clever to keep quiet about it, though," Ron clapped his friend on the back. "If there are any pureblood bigots not sleeping like the dead or in Azkaban right now, they would destroy every seed of yours they could get their hands on."

Neville looked up and nodded, pleased with their approval. "When the whole world is magical, no one will use the _cruciatus_ curse in service of a dark lord trying to rid the world of muggles."

A beaming smile crossed Hermione's face, and she clapped her hands in front of her, then closed the gap between her and Neville with one step. She hugged the lanky boy with all the strength she had.

"Thanks, Hermione!" Neville gasped.

Hermione drew back and wiped a tear or two from her eyes. Happy tears - even Harry knew that. "Can we give some seed to my family? Not just my parents, but my cousins, aunts and uncles? We have to visit them anyway. Once they found out this adorable baby," she ruffled Albus's red hair, "was still alive, they demanded visiting rights." Hermione sniffed. "I'm just glad my dad had taught them all to duck for cover when they saw death eaters."

Harry nodded. Despite John's instructions, that encounter could have ended much worse if Lucius Malfoy hadn't been in such a hurry to retrieve the baby.

Fawkes had indeed found the safest place in muggle Britain for Albus when he'd dropped the baby off in the highlands of Scotland with Hermione's family. If Iran hadn't decided to EMP the entire world, Albus would have had the best of both worlds, magical and muggle.

Harry looked down at Ginny, who was now nestled into his side. Baby Albus looked up at him then, and Harry could have sworn he saw a twinkle in the his blue eyes. Harry smiled as warmth spread throughout his body. He knew his mentor Albus, buried deep inside this tiny bundle, must be as pleased as Harry was to hear that magic was being extended to everyone: witches, wizards, squibs, and muggles.

Harry smiled at his friends and looked out again over the changed landscape below. The future would be far different than even they had thought.

His free hand ran along the smooth length of the wand inside his pocket. He, along with this wand, had become a guardian of all that was good in the world. When he died, this wand would choose a worthy descendent of his to continue the vigil, to protect the world against the dark evil Voldemort had represented.

The wand was no longer a mere copy of the Deathly Hallows wand. No, it had become something more - the Guardian Wand. As he gave his wand a name, it hummed with energy beneath his hand as if it approved.

The world wouldn't be entirely safe; it never would be. But at least now it would be better.

The End

A/N Thanks for reading! If you'd like to check out some original free fantasy stories I've written, check out my author profile. I've got the links there. :)


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